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BY F. DU BOISGOBEY, 


(FIRST HAIiF.) 


17 TO 27 VaNdeWater 
V/ l e: wTom^« 


^ TOtMiel JLdlUOH, issnea i n 

1«H6 by (Jeorge Muuro— Entered at the Post Office at New York at second class rates— Feb. 10. i' 







nor 










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THE PRETTY JAILER 


BY 

BOISGOBEY. 


F1I18T HALF. 


F. DU 



NEW YORK; 

<5EORGB MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

17 TO 27 VaNDK WATER STREET. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year ISSff, hyr 
GEORGE MUNRO, 

in the Of/ice oj the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C- 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


CHAPTEE L 

Duking the last quarter of a century there has been- 
little or no change in provincial life. Eailroads, telegraph- 
offices, and penny newspapers have wrought some slight 
modifications. There are more traveling salesmen, more 
frequent and far-reaching mail facilities, and provincials, 
are familiar with the names of a few Parisian celebrities, 
but country-folk are country-folk under all regimes. 

The government attorney may figure successively under 
the title of the king^s attorney, the imperial attorney, or 
the attorney of the republic, but his duties and perquisites 
are the same in either case. His powers are neither in- 
creased nor diminished; electors continue to vote for the: 
ministerial candidate, and the lives of the 'bourgeoisie are 
spent, as they were sixty years ago, in talking politics and 
slandering their neighbors. Latitude and longitude make 
no difference whatever. East, west, north, or south, all 
small towns in France are exactly alike. A person who is 
familiar with one, knows all the others. 

However, this does not apply so much to villages or to 
the’ capitals of the different departments, as to the minor 
towns; and at the beginning of the year that preceded the 
establishment of the last Empire, there was one town in 
particular that possessed all the conditions necessary to in- 
sure the unalloyed contentment of a native, and bore a 
Parisian to death. 

Lost in the depths of Perigord, the town of Salviac, upon 
the Dronne, has never contained a population of more than 
five thousand souls, and in 1852 its only communication 
with the rest of the world was by means of an antiquated 
diligence, drawn by two bony horses. 

The inhabitants were none the less satisfied with their 
lot, and proud of their native city, picturesquely perched on 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


:8 

the edge ot a ravine^ through which flows a crystal-clear 
.stream. 

There were no millionaires^ it is true, but plenty of well- 
to-do citizens who aspired to the possession of a million, 
and who may have since arrived at it. 'No wealthy manu- 
facturers, or great merchants; nothing but small bond- 
holders, landed proprietors, and petty merchants. 

In those days Salviac was quite a business center, and 
•every market day, the gentlemen farmers of the region 
round about flocked there in their chaises or on horseback, 
to spend the* afternoon in playing besiqtie in the modest 
parlors of the club-house. 

For there was a club in Salviac, a club called the Philol- 
ogists, perhaps because every one used the patois of Peri- 
gord there. 

]S[one of the members ruined themselves there, though 
they oftentimes quarreled, for the natives of Dordogne are 
hot blooded, and when they become excited they are not 
easily calmed. 

At the time this story begins the coup cVetat of Decem- 
ber was still quite recent, and the country was in a very 
turbulent condition. Salviac had not rebelled, but Salviac 
lacked enthusiasm, and in the country round about the 
town there had been outbreaks promptly repressed by the 
gendarmes, one of them so serious that the leader of it, 
arrested weapon in hand, Avas noAv in prison awaiting the 
official decision that was to decide his fate; while some of 
his accomplices, less fortunate than himself, were already 
on their Avay to Cayenne or Lambessa. Under these cir- 
cumstances, it is needless to say that the townspeople were 
greatly excited, and even more greatly divided in opinion, 
for even while submitting to the new regime they felt a 
deep interest 'in the victims of an insurrection they excused, 
and treated the newly installed authorities with a reserve 
bordering on coldness. 

The former sub-prefect had been replaced by a young 
man dispatched from Paris for the express jiurpose of set- 
ting public opinion right in a disaffected community. The 
procureiir and his assistant rivaled him in ardor. 

This state of things very naturally cast a gloom over the 
spirits of the Philologists. The town officials frequented 
the club-house as usual, some from a fear that they Avould 
be accused of sulking; others to make converts for the 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


9 


President-prince. The townspeople evinced a similar dis- 
inclination to desert it, but they held their tongues, in 
order not to compromise themselves. As for the noblemen 
of the neighborhood, they, being strong royalists, did not 
hesitate to censure the coui^ dieted in no measured terms,, 
and their warlike attitude greatly alarmed the peaceably 
inclined donrgeoisie. 

As a very natural result of all this, these ^^unions were 
much less cheerful as well as less numerous than formerly, 
even on market days, for the gentlemen farmers, at a sign 
of discontent, returned to their castles before night. 

On one of these Saturdays, however, the last in the 
month of January, a heavy snow-storm suddenly began, 
which in a few hours rendered the roads well-nigh impassa- 
ble, and the seigneurs of the neighborhood, compelled to 
remain over night at the inn, could find no better way to 
spend the evening than to pass it at the club. 

At eleven o^clock they were still there, and their presence 
being an attraction, several notables of Salviac were keep- 
ing them company. 

M. Bourdeille, himself, M. Bourdeille, President of the 
Civil Tribunal, was indulging in a game of whist, in wdiich 
he had for a partner the Count de Sigoules, a former mem- 
ber of the king^s guards, and for opponents M. Lorcieres, 
a banker, and M. Braconne, president-elect of the order of 
barristers. 

' The club-rooms were not luxuriously furnished, but they 
were very pleasantly located in the rez-de-cliaussee of the 
largest and handsomest house in the town, and the win- 
dows looked out upon a terrace that commanded a view of 
the entire valley of the Dronne, a sight certainly well cal- 
culated to please the eye. 

" That night the mountains on the other side of the river 
were covered with a snow^y mantle; an unbroken silence 
reigned without, and the light from the windows of the 
card-room streamed down upon a deserted thoroughfare. 

lliree tricks and two by honors, said M. de Sigoules,. 
throwing down his cards. 

Give us our revenge,^^ cried his less fortunate opi^onents. 

No, it is too late; besides, I donT feel much like play- 
ing. I took a hand merely to please our dear jiresident, 
but Avhen I think of that poor Adhemar de Mussidan in 
prison, I canT help calling myself a brute. 


10 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


Confess that Monsieur de Mussidan deserves some pun- 
ishment, count/^ said the banker Lorcieres. To march 
upon Salviac at the head of fifty peasants is certainly a 
grave, a very grave offense. The young man ran a great 
risk of being shot for his audacity. 

should much pref^ that he had been shot. In that 
‘Case, he would have died like a soldier, while now he will 
be sent to die of fever at Cayenne. By the way, your 
tjharming suS-prefect has refused me permission to see him. 
I applied first to the superintendent of the prison, who un- 
ceremoniously shut the door in my face. Where did that 
bull-dog of a jailer come from? He certainly is not a 
native of this region.-^'’ 

No, replied M. Braconne, ^^he was sent to us from 
Paris, as a Christmas-gift, I suppose. He is a rough old 
trooper, but his wife is young and pretty, and it is said that 
lie owes his promotion to her. 

A complaisant husband, probably. Ah, our new masters 
choose wisely. 

Hush, my dear count, cautioned President Bourdeille, 
you are frightening everybody away.^^ 

For some timid citizens were stealing timidly out, and 
others were pretending to be absorbed in their newspapers, 
in order that they might be apparently deaf to the seditious 
words of the count, who quickly retorted: 

I am not afraid of anybody. Nobody shall prevent me 
from saying. what I think about this or any other matter. 

I would say as much to the very face of the commissioner who 
arrived here only tliree days ago, but who has already sent 
five or six poor devils to Cayenne, among them one of my 
tenants, Pierre Chancelade, a worthy fellow and a repub- 
lican, though that did not prevent him from following that 
hot-headed Adhemar, who so rashly constituted himself a 
champion of the royal cause. 

The poor man is not so much to blame after all,^^ re- 
plied M. Lorcieres. ^^It was his son Louis, the school- 
teacher, who urged him to take up arms, but who took good 
care to remain at home himself. 

Louis wcTuld certainly have had a finger in the pie but 
for his sister, remarked the president; ^^but I am very, 
glad that he held himself aloof, for he is a very estimable 
young fellow, in spite of his radical opinions. But suppose 
we give these gentlemen a chance to retrieve their fort- 


THE PEETTY JAILEK. 


11 


iines/^ the president continued^ thinking the old nobleman 
was going too far. 

Very welh it may calm me a little/^ Sigoules replied. 

But it will be your faulty Mr. President^ if I make any 
mistake in playing.'’^ 

They picked up their cards, and were about to resume their 
game when the door was abruptly thrown open, and two 
gentlemen, one old and one young, entered the room. 

Ah, here comes the sub-prefect!^^ muttered the count; 

who is that with him?^^ 

The commissioner,^^ replied M. Braconne. Why the 
deuce did you prevent me from leaving 

The agent of the government was a decidedly fine-look- 
ing man, tall, vigorously built, and dark-complexioned, 
with an erect carriage and heavy black mustache. Air 
old soldier unquestionably, and born to fulfill important 
missions. 

The sub-prefect, on the contrary, was evidently a man 
of fashion, placed in office by some influential protector. 

DonT let us disturb you, gentlemen, he remarked 
courteously to such as rose to do honor to the authorities. 
^^ My friend, the commissioner, leaves to-morrow, and I 
was anxious to show him the beautiful view of the mount- 
ains you have from these windows. 

The whist-players had not moved, and the count was 
casting withering glances at the pitiless official who had 
sent his tenant into exile and -cast his cousin into prison. 

WouldnT this be a superb setting for the last scene of 
a melodrama, the sub-prefect continued, after leading the 
commissioner to the window. 

The words had scarcely passed his lips when one of the 
window-panes was shattered into fragments by the passage 
of a bullet. 

Every one sprung up at the same instant, the whist 
players as well as the readers, but at first no one perceived- 
that the bullet had hit the mark. 

The sub-prefect, who had escaped unharmed, eoura- 
geously threw open the window, and shouted at the top of 
his lungs: 

Arrest him 

But as the sub-prefect shook his fist threateningly at the 
man who had fired the shot, the commissioner placed his 
hand upon his breast, turned and fell like a lump of lead. 


12 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


Several persons sprung forward to raise him; Count de 
Segoules, in spite of his political animosity, being among the 
first. 

But he was too late. The unfortunate government dele- 
gate had been killed outright. The bullet had pierced his 
heart, and a physician who chanced to be present had 
only to glance at him to perceive that the wound was 
mortal. 

The witnesses of the tragedy, losing their heads com- 
pletely, rushed from the room shrieking murder, and 
there remained only the Count de Sigoules, President Bour- 
deille, the sub-prefect and two or three citizens, who were 
either less cowardly than the others, or more anxious to 
attract the attention of the chief official of the arrondisse- 
ment. 

A deed of political vengeance/^ murmured President 
Bourdeille. 

"'This is what comes of persecuting poor wretches, 
growled the old nobleman. 

“ Gentlemen,” interrupted the sub-prefect, “ the assas- 
sin must not be allowed to escape. I saw him; he fled 
toward the river. Eun to police head-quarters, while I give 
ohase. 

As he spoke, he sprung out of the window, which was 
not more than six feet above the terrace, and was quickly 
followed by an assistant of the town-clerk, who happened 
to be present. . 

These gentlemen certainly deserved no little credit tor 
pursuing the murderer, for it was by no means improbable 
that he had another bullet in reserve for any possible pur- 
suer. But what will not a man risk for the sake of ad- 
vancement? . 

Besides, the man had disappeared, leaving tracks which 
were distinctly visible in the snow, however. After climb- 
ing a low wall that bordered the terrace, he had probably 
directed his steps toward the steep hill at whose base flows 
the Dronne, and this hill was covered with rocks and shrubs 
well calculated to afford effectual shelter to a fugitive. 
AVas he lurking there, or had he continued his flight to the 
bottom of the hill? The sub-prefect did not take time to 
reflect upon this point, however, but rushed on, pausing 
only when he reached the edge of the^ river, which he did 
considerably in advance of his self-constituted assistant. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


13 


Both men were yonng and equally ambitious. 

At the age of twenty-seven, Charles Yignory, the son of 
a Paris merchant, had made such good use of his ojipor- 
tunities for enjoyment, that there remained of his inherit- 
ance only a few thousand francs. Gaming, suppers and dash- 
ing demoiselles had devoured all the rest, and his appoint- 
ment, which he owed to an influential comrade, had come at 
a most opportune moment. It cost him quite a struggle to 
leave Paris, but he fancied that an administrative career 
would suit him; besides, he did not expect to vegetate in 
Salviac forever, but to soon be removed to more congenial 
surroundings. 

The young man who had so promptly come to his assist- 
ance was Martial Mouleydier, a native of Salviac, where his 
family held an enviable rank in hourgeois circles. He pos- 
sessed only a very slender patrimony, but nature having en- 
dowed him with a handsome face, he dreamed of making 
a wealthy marriage that would aid him in rising to the po- 
sition of chief of the registrar's office. 

The provincial and the Parisian were consequently not 
uncongenial spirits, and the subordinate, having already 
rendered sundry services to the sub-prefect, was treated al- 
most as an equal, at least, in private, by the latter official. 

Where has the scoundrel gone to?^^ asked Vignory, 
breathless from his rapid run; It is not impossible that 
he has swum across the river, but I can not say that I have 
any desire to attempt it on a night like this. 

There are no tracks in the snow, you notice,'’^ rejflied 
Mouleydier. I am inclined to think that he stopped half- 
way down the hill, and then ran back to the town while we 
were coming down here. He has had plenty of time to get 
there before this, and I am very much afraid that we shall 
not succeed in overtaking him.^^ 

But I must capture him. I have no intention of miss- 
ing such an opportunity. It is one that presents itself but 
once in a life-time. Think of it, my dear fellow, poor 
Santelli was the commissioner-general for six departments. 
If the murderer of such an important personage remains un- 
punished, there will be nothing left for me but to pack my 
trunks; while, if I secure the murderer, I shall at least re- 
ceive the Cross of the Legion of Honor. 

You will get it then, never fear. He can not escape, 
even though the gendarmes should fail to meet him. It is 


14 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


a political crime^ and we shall only have to search among: 
the enemies of the government to find the guilty party. 

^^Yes; and especially among the friends of the men. 
Monsieur Santelli has just transported.^" 

Among the friends of that old Chancelade^, 

for example. Only a few moments before your arrival at 
the club. Count de Sigoules was anathematizing the gov- 
ernnient on account of the punishment it had inflicted upon, 
his tenant. I, for my part, fail to understand Avhy the old 
aristocrat should feel aggrieved to see the country freed from 
a rabid republican."" 

Extremes meet sometimes, my dear fellow; but 
Sigoules is not the man to employ an assassin. We must 
seek the culprit elsewhere. But what can have become of: 
the villain who fired the shot?"" 

feel satisfied that he must have returned to the 
town. "" 

But how? The cliff is perpendicular everywhere ex- 
cept directly in front of us. A rope may have been thrown 
to him from one of the houses that edge the cliff, how- 
ever. "" 

That is not impossible. I know several houses whose* 
inmates bear rather unenviable reputations. It would be 
well to make a thorough search, I think, though he may 
have made his way back to the terrace, and gone round, 
'the club-house. They have all lost their senses up there.. 
See, the window is still open, and persons are hurrying to 
and fro. The procureur and his assistant must have ar- 
rived. "" 

And my place is with them,"" said Vignory, gravely. 

will join them, and begin the inquest immediately."" 

^^Here are the gendarmes, Monsieur le Prefet,"" cried 
Mouleydier. 

Let us wait for them, then."" 

There were two of them in command of a corporal, and 
they were advancing as rapidly as their cumbrous equip- 
ments would permit. 

Have you seen the man?"" eried Vignory. 

^^^0, sir,"" replied the corporal, lifting his hat. 

Then begin by searching carefully among the bushes 
here on the hill-side. If you find him, and he tries to es- 
cape, knock him down, but drn"t shoot him, for I am 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 15 

s-nxioiis to take him alive. If you do not find him, come 
hack, and report to me. 

The gendarmes began their search, leaving the sub-pre- 
fect alone with his protegL The former was beginning to 
repent of having compromised his dignity by this chase 
after an assassin, and as the moments slipped by, and the 
gendarmes failed to make their appearance, he became 
more and more uneasy and impatient. 

The moon was setting, but the storm had ceased. The 
sky was cloudless, and the refiection from the snow-covered 
ground illumined the scene with a ghastly light. The half- 
frozen river flowed noiselessly along between its rocky banks, 
scarcely a stone’s throw from the path where the gentlemen 
had paused — the path winding along through the valley at 
the base of the cliff upon which the town of Salviac 
stands. 

They must begin to be astonished at my prolonged ab- 
sence up there,” the prefect finally remarked. ^^lam 
under no obligation to make a policeman of myself; be- 
sides, I am anxious to attend the inquest before writing my 
Teport to the prefect — and to • the minister — for the catas- 
trophe is so grave as to necessitate a direct report to the 
head of the state department. . So let us go back, my dear 
fellow — that is, unless you would prefer to await the cor- 
poral’s return. ” 

That is for you to decide, sir.” 

Then .remain, and give him a description of the assas- 
sin. I caught only a hasty glimpse of him, but I can 
swear that he was tall, and that he wore a broad-brimmed 
hat. As for the weapon he used, I presume he has got rid 
of that by this time. It would be well to search for it 
carefully among the bushes. ” 

Strange!” murmured the shrewd Mouleydier suddenly. 

At this hour of the night everybody in Salviac is gener- 
ally asleep, and I notice two lighted windows up there. ” 
^^Do you fancy that is a clew?” responded M. Vignory, 
with a good-natured shrug of the shoulders. 

They are the windows of the house which Louis Chaii- 
oelade occupies with his sister.” 

Louis Chancelade!” repeated the sub-prefect; ‘‘‘"the 
teacher I dismissed on my arrival in Salviac?” 

And the son of the Pierre Chancelade who headed the 
insurgents of the fourth of December, and who was dis- 


16 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


patched to Perigiieux this evenings under a strong escort^, 
by order of the commissioner. 

Ah, ha! This is a coincidence well worthy of atten- 
tion. 

The son is no better than the father. They are all 
born rebels. For more than sixty years this family has 
been at odds with the government, it mattered not what 
the' government might be. 

And the son could not forgive the commissioner for 
transporting the old man. Only yesterday he came to pro- 
test against the decision, and expressed himself with so 
much violence that the commissioner took him by the arm 
and put him out of the room. I was present at the time. 

^^The townspeople have heard of the affair, and last 
night, at the cafe, it was said that Louis Chancelade had 
sworn to have his revenge. 

In that case, my dear fellow, I know the culprit, and 
I am very anxious that the honor of arresting him should be 
mine alone. Oblige me in this, and I will have you ap- 
pointed town-treasurer within a fortnight. But we must 
not lose a minute. While the proper authorities are con- 
ducting the inquest up there, we had better pay a visit to 
the domicile of the former school-master. There will be 
five of us, counting the gendarmes ^ and that is certainly 
enough to arrest a man.'^^ 

He will not be captured without a struggle, and if he 
has kept his gun, it will be no easy matter to effect an 
entrance. 

^^If you are afraid, my dear fellow, was the rather 
scornful reply, I will not attempt to detain you. But I 
warn you that if one fears death, one is likely to remain a 
supernumerary all oner's life. 

only thought it best to warn you of the possible 
danger, sir. I am ready to start, and, if it should be neces- 
sary to make an attack upon the house, I ask b place in 
the foremost ranks. 

You display too much ardor now. That would be the 
business of the gendarmes. Let me give my instructions 
to their leader. 

Well, corporal, so you have found nothing?’^ 

Nothing, sir. I tried to follow the tracks the man left 
in the snow, but midway down the hill they ceased, and 
there was no means of discovering which way he went.^^ 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


17 


I know. Do you see tHat light yonder?'’^ 

Yes, it is in Chancelade^s house. 

What! does the house belong to him?^^ 

Yes, sir. Though he farmed for Count de Sigoules^ 
he owned quite a comfortable little property — several acres 
of land, and a house in down, which his children occupy."^ 
And they do not keep early hours, it would appear. 
Which is the shortest way to their house 
By the church. 

Move on, then. I will follow you, and when we have 
reached it, I will tell you what to do. 

The corporal summoned his subordinates, and the entire 
party started off at a rapid pace. 

Vignory allowed the others to get a little distance in ad- 
vance, in order that he might be able to talk freely with his 
companion, who had risen very considerably in his estima- 
tion. 

What kind of a man is this Chancelade?"^ he asked. 

1 dismissed him, but you must know him better than I 
do. 


^ ^^He passes for a very respectable sort of a fellow in Sal- 
viac, though he is rather proud and very reserved in his' 
manner. He seems to think himself above the majority of 
people because he is a B.A. He took charge of a low- 
grade school from choice, as he is capable of filling a much 
higher position. He is a sort of fanatic on theological and 
social questions, and I think him capable of defying al- 
most anything in the defense of his opinions. It is in the 
blood. Old Chancelade is a fanatic of the deepest dye, as 
he has proved beyond any possibility of doubt."" 

And the sister?"" 


She is of the same stamp. But she is very kind- 
hearted and charitable, and all the people of Salviac are 
devoted to her. She teaches poor girls to sew; she takes 
care of several foundling children, and works day and 
night for the poor. In short, she is a regular Sister of 
Charity. 

^^And strange to say, in addition to all this, she is a real 
beauty, and no mistake."" 

^^I have never seen her, or I should have noticed her, I 
am sure. The ladies of Salviac are certainly not remark- 
able for their good looks."" 


18 ’ THE PRETTY JAILER. 

Donl she go to church on Sunday 

I think so, and they say her brother scolds her for it, 
3)ut she goes to early mass, at six o^clock, you know/^ 

^^And I go only to late mass — to the lazy people^s 
service — and I wish I could get out of that. But I am the 
sub-prefect, and if I should fail to show myself, I should 
have all right-minded people, and the government I repre- 
sent, down upon me. 

I hope this sister will not be mixed up in the affair; 
she must be very popular in the neighborhood, and she can 
hardly fail to espouse the cause of her rascal of a brother. 

There is not the slightest doubt of that, sir; she adores 
her brother, and considers him a wonderful man. She 
would be chopped in pieces rather than say a word that 
would injure him. "^ 

We will dispense with her testimony, then. The main 
thing is to take them by surprise. She is doubtless sitting 
np for him, but we must.be on hand to receive him. Your 
plan, my dear fellow, is certainly a capital one, and if our 
expedition is as successful as I trust it will be, I assure you 
that you will not find me ungrateful. 

They had walked some distance by this time, and the 
gendarmes, who preceded them, were beginning to ascend 
the gentle slope that leads to the northern end of the little 
town. 

They finally reached the narrow and badly paved street 
which runs the entire length of Salviac, and which, after 
passing the club-house, serves chiefly as a charming but 
little frequented promenade, for the inhabitants of the 
town would rather saunter about the dingy little square 
in front of the City Hall, than contemplate the charming 
valley of the Dronne from a shaded esplanade. 

The tragical death of the commissioner had not aroused 
the inhabitants from their usual torpor, for the sub-prefect 
^nd his cortege did not encounter a living soul. 

In Salviac all the cafes are closed at ten o^clock by order ^ 
of the police, hence, their frequenters had long been sound " 
•Rsleep; and the witnesses of the catastrophe had doubtless 
accompanied the body to the sub-prefecture where the 
commissioner had been staying. 

This silence and solitude suited the plans of the ambi- , 
tious sub-prefect admirably, for he was anxious to outstrip 
the police in this hunt after the murderer, and to bring 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


19 ^ 


them the culprit^ bound hand and foot, while they were 
still occupied with vague conjectures. 

After proceeding up the street a short distance, the gen- 
darmes turned to the left into a cross-street, near the end 
of which stood Chancelade^s house. 

There is no light to be seen on this side of the house, 
remarked Mouleydier. 

^^Of course not,"" replied his companion. The wily 
school-master does not want any one to know of his return. 
He is perfectly well aware that his sister is watching for 
him, and the light in the windows overlooking the river is 
a preconcerted signal between the brother and sister."" 

May I ask if you propose to arrest her as well?"" 

Ho; certainly not. I have no desire to make myself 
unpopular. By and by, perhaps — I can not say. If it can 
be proved that she is implicated in the crime, public opin- 
ion will undergo a marked change in regard to the young. 
My. "" 

That will not happen. I should be willing to wager 
my right hand that the beautiful Edmee knows nothing 
about the affair. Her brother— if he did commit the crime 
— has taken good care not to make her his confidante^ 

I quite agree with you, and I shall treat her with all 
the deference she deserves. Leave all this to me, my dear 
fellow; I know how to manage women,"" added Charles 
Vignory, stroking his long, fair mustache complacently. 

The corporal had stationed a man on either side of the 
front door, and now stood awaiting the orders of the pre- 
fect, who began by asking: 

Has the house any other outside door?"" 

Ho, sir. There is a small garden in the rear that ex- 
tends to the edge of the cliff, which is about one hundred 
and fifty feet above the river at this point. On the right is 
the house of the cure; on the left, the house of Monsieur Bra- 
conne, the lawyer; but there is no means of communication 
between the three dwellings. The partition walls are at 
least two feet in thickness. Houses are not built in this 
fashion nowadays."" 

The Chancelade house was indeed very old, and did not 
seem to have been repaired for a long time. It was only 
two stories and a half high; the door seemed rickety, and 
the window shutters sadly out of repair. They ^ were* 
tightly closed, however, and not a sound came from within.. 


'20 THE PRETTY JAILER. 

Shall I knock asked the corporal. 

No, I will do that/^ replied the sub-prefect. Stand a 
little aside with your men. You, Mouleydier, had better 
place yourself directly behind me.'’^ 

Having issued these orders, M. Vignory seized the knock- 
er — bells were as yet unknown in Salviac — and rapped vig- 
orously. 

There was a silence, then a feminine voice inquired: 

Louis, is it you?^^ 

You see she is expecting him,^^ whispered Mouleydier. 

She is still waiting for him, so he has not returned, and 
when he does, he will be caught like a rat in a trap.^^ 

The sub-prefect silenced the speaker with a gesture, 
then replied in the affirmative, disguising his voice. He 
could not imitate that of Louis Chancelade, as he had never 
heard it, but he endeavored to impart to his own the most 
engaging intonation possible. 

The door was not immediately opened, however. Mile. 
JEdmee was evidently in doubt, and to decide her, the in- 
genius Vignory hit upon the expedient of giving two or 
three hasty taps with his fingers— a signal which might be 
translated something after this fashion : 

am afraid to speak loud. You know me. DonT 
keep me standing here. Some neighbor might come to 
the window and see me. 

It is true that the means was not such as an official who 
was very mindful of his dignity would employ in such a 
cose, but it proved successful. 

Louis Chancelade^ s sister partially opened the door. 
She had a candle in her hand, and as the light fell full 
upon Charles Vignory's face, she uttered a cry of surprise, 
and attempted to close the door, but Vignory had promptly 
availed himself of his opportunity, and was already inside. 

This advantage gained, he hisured communication with 
his escort by placing his foot against the door in such a 
way as to prevent Mile. Edmee from closing it, and then 
proceeded to remove his hat. 

Who are you inquired the young girl haughtily. 

I supposed I had the honor of being known to you, 
mademoiselle,'’^ replied Vignory in his sweetest tones. 
am the sub-prefect of Salviac.'’^ 

The girl made a hasty movement that did not escape the 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 21 

lynx eyes of M. Yignory, but she quickly recovered from 
her transient discomfiture, and replied coldly : 

Very well, sir; what do you desire of me?^^ 

I wish to see your brother/^ 

My brother is not at home.^^ 

May I venture to inquire when he will return 
' ‘^^He will not return at all to-night. 

Indeed? I fancied you were waiting for him. Just 
now, when I rapped, you said: ^ Is that you, Louis 

repeat, sir, that he will not return to-night. I am 
surprised that you, who removed him from a position he 
filled so creditably, should be so anxious to see him, par- 
ticularly in the middle of the night. 

Just then, the girl saw the silver-braid on the hat of one 
of the gendarmes gleam through the darkness. 

'"Oh, I understand at last,"^ she said, -bitterly. . "You 
have come to arrest him. It is not enough to send my 
father to the galleys, you must have my brother, too. Ah, 
well, arrest me. I am as guilty as he; for his opinions 
are mine.^^ 

She was superb in her anger and disdain, and Vignory 
could but admire her. Her large, dark eyes hashed dan- 
gerously; her delicate nostrils quivered with indignation, 
and her regular and refined features wore an expression of 
intense scorn. She was the very personification of an in- 
sulted queen. • 

^ Mouleydier had not praised this Perigord beauty too 
highly, and Vignory was compelled to admit that even 
in Paris, he had never met a more beautiful woman. 

" Pardon me, mademoiselle,^"' he said, forcing a smile, 
^'you are not concerned in the matter; besides, I do not 
wage war upon the opinions of any one. The government 
I serve has been under the necessity of depriving itself of 
the services of Monsieur Louis Ohancelade, who was wag- 
ing open war against it; but if your brother had contented 
himself with supporting the republican regime, I should 
not have been obliged to come here to disturb you to-night. 

" Of what do you accuse him, then?^^ cried Mile. Chan- 
celade. "For asking his father's release of the heartless 
man who so brutally repulsed him?" 

Vignory was on the poiht of replying: "Your brother 
has avenged himself upon this man by shooting him;" but 
he concluded that this would be a mistake, and that it 


22 


THE PKETTY JAILEE. 


would be advisable to parley a little longer in order to give 
Louis Chancelade time to fall into the trap that had been 
set for him. 

Mademoiselle/^ he replied^, a crime was committed 
this evening, in the village, and I regret to say that sus- 
picion has fallen upon your brother. 

That is absurd. My brother is not in Salviac/^ 

Indeed! Where is he?^^ 

Edmee bit her lips, but made no reply. 

^^You refuse to tell me? You make a great mistake, 
mademoiselle. It would be of the greatest possible advan- 
tage to your brother to be able to prove an aliii: besides, if 
he left town before night, he can no longer be suspected of 
a deed that was done more than half an hour ago. He was 
in Salviac this noon, for I met him on the street; but I am 
very willing to believe that he left town afterward, and I 
do not see why you should be unwilling to tell me where he 
is — that is, unless the journey upon which he so suddenly 
started was culpable in its object. 

Question him on the subject. He will answer you.^^ 
Then it would seem, m^emoiselle, that you are ex- 
pecting him?^^ 

Edmee, again caught in a trap, cast down her eyes and 
said nothing. 

, ‘'^That being the case, mademoiselle, you can hardly 
blame me for taking my precautions. Will you kindly 
show me into one of the ^joining rooms? The gendarmes 
I brought with me can remain here in the hall and open 
the door for your brother when he comes. 

M. Mouleydier had embraced the first opportunity to slip 
into the house during the foregoing conversation, and he 
had been cautiously followed by the corporal and his men, 
the last of whom had taken care to close the door behind 
him. 

Mile. Chancelade, thus driven to the wall, surveyed them 
all scornfully, but did not evince the slightest intention of 
complying with the request. 

^‘1 shall know to-morrow if there is still such a thing as 
justice in France, she said, haughtily; ^^for I hold you 
responsible for this unwarrantable intrusion, and shall most 
certainly enter a complaint against you. As for comjDelling 
me to entertain you elsewhere than in this hall, I defy you 
to do it. 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 23 

Heaven save me from resorting to violence, made- 
moiselle/^ cried M. Vignory, rather hypocritically, it is to 
be feared. ^^We are very comfortable here, and here we 
will remain, if you prefer. Even if you should desire to 
return to your own room, I beg you to believe that I 
;shall offer no objection. 

I shall remain here. I intend to share my brother's 
fate. If you arrest him, you must arrest me, too, as I 
^aid before. 

^ ^ I understand, the sub-prefect smilingly replied. ^ ^ Y ou 
intend to call out to him when he raps.^^ Save yourself, 
the gendarmes are here!^^ 

You are very much mistaken, sir. My brother has a 
key. Besides, even if I should warn him of his danger, he 
would not flee. It is only those who are guilty who take 
flight without pausing to prove their innocence. 

I sincerely hope that Louis Chancelade will succeed in 
clearing himself, I am sure. 

Of what do you accuse him?^^ 

I can tell you, now. The commissioner-general has 
just been shot!^^ 

^^My father^s executioner!^^ 

That exclamation alone would suffice to explain why 
suspicion has fallen upon your brother. He, like yourself, 
entertains an intense hatred for the official who only did 
liis duty in punishing a dangerous rebel. 

True, we hate this man, and if Louis could have com- 
pelled him to flght, he would have taken pleasure in kill- 
ing him, but Louis would not stoop to murder. 

. I will gladly believe that — until the contrary is proved. 
But it is unfortunate for him that he should have taken it 
into his head to leave home in such weather as this, and at 
an hour when all honest people are asleep. 

You seem to be out yourself. 

It is very different in my case. I witnessed the mur- 
der and started out in pursuit of the assassin whom I pur- 
sued as far as the river. There, Monsieur Mouleydier, who 
was with me, called my attention to the fact that there 
was a light in your windows. 

So it is to this gentleman that I am indebted for your 
visit, said the young girl, casting upon Mouleydier a look 
that made him feel a wild desire to sink through the floor. 


24 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


I could not have believed that one of my comj)atriots: 
would have so degraded himself as to serve as your spy. 

Martial hung his head under this scathing rebuke, which 
annoyed him deeply, as for more than a year he had been 
. endeavoring to ingratiate himself into the beautiful Ed- 
mee^s favor; and though he had met with no success what- 
ever, it was hard to be thus humiliated by one whose 
affection he had hoped to win. 

The brief silence which followed these remarks was^ 
broken by the grating of a key in the lock. 

Mile. Ohancelade turned pale, but she gave no other sign 
of fear. She did not even extinguish the liglil she held, 
though such a proceeding might have put these iiersons 
who were lying in wait for her brother to no little incon- 
venience. 

They stepped quickly back into the shadow, however, so 
that on opening the door Louis saw only his sister. 

‘^It was a failure, he said to her, gloomily. ^^The 
cowards deserted me at the last moment, and unaided I 
could not — 

He did not complete the sentence, for the corporal seized 
him from behind, and the gendarmes took advantage of his 
surprise to divest him of the double-barreled gun upon his 
shoulder. 

Before he had recovered from his astonishment, his arms- 
■were seized and handcuffs were slipped upon his wrists. 

Very well; I surrender,^'^ he said, coldly. 

Then, turning to his sister, who stood silent and mo- 
tionless, he said: 

Fear nothing. They can put me in prison, but I defy 
them to find judges to convict me. 

Then, addressing the sub-prefect : 

You are appearing in a fine role, sir. It was probably 
‘ this scoundrel who denounced me.^^ 

Mouleydier, shrinking from the searching eyes of the 
former teacher, averted his face, and said nothing. 

^^Let us put an end to this scene, said Louis. You 
have no intention of arresting my sister; so why do you 
not remove your prisoner 

M. Vignory gave a signal to the gendarmes, who were 
evidently impatient to depart. 

Please accept the assurance of my sincere regret,/^ he 
remarked to Edmee. I have been compelled to perform 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


25 


a very painful duty, but I deeply deplore your situation: 
and — "" 

can dispense with your pity/' replied the girl, dryly. 

And M. Vignory having turned away, she glanced at her 
brotlier and placed her finger on her lip, as much as to 
-say: 

Confess nothing. They know nothing." 

Louis departed, with head proudly erect, between the 
two gendarmes who walked on either side of him. 

The corporal preceded him. The sub-prefect and Mou- 
leydier followed, and Edmee closed the door after them 
without making any attempt to exchange a word with her 
brother. 

E^or was it necessary. They understood each other with- 
.'Out speaking. 

Vignory and young Mouleydier loitered behind a little. 
They were anxious to compare their impressions. 

"at was certainly he that fired the shot!" they both re- 
marked, in the same breath. 

/" And the sister was in the secret," added Mouleydier, 
still smarting under the stinging words the girl had ad- 
dressed to him. 

"" That is quite probable, but it is a question for the 
judge of instruction to decide. I had not the heart to ar- 
rest her. I have the assassin, however, and those jDeople 
up there will be not a little surprised when we make our 
appearance with the culprit in our custody." 

"" Then you are not going to send Chancelade straight to 
prison?" 

"" JSTo. I want to enjoy my triumph, and you shall have 
your share of it. We are going straight to the sub-pre- 
fecture, and I intend to begin by bringing this man face 
to face with Monsieur Santelli. I must give my instruc- 
tions to the corporal, however, or else he will conduct us 
straight to the station-house." 

And he quickened his pace in order to overtake that 
officer, who Avas carrying under his arm the gun wrested 
from the prisoner. 

He Avalked on with a firm step; this prisoner, this stal- 
wart son of a peasant, refined and polished by education. 
He was clad in the garb of a country sportsman: a jacket 
of heavy broAvn cloth, corduroy breeches, leather gaiters, 
heavy shoes, and a broad brimmed-felt hat. The costumQ 


26 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


became him well, and he carried himself proudly, as if 
protesting against his arrest. 

As the sub-prefect passed him, he called to him and 
said: 

^^Will you have the kindness to tell me of what I am 
accused 

You will learn presently,"" replied Vignory, without 
even turning, for he was looking forward to the confront 
tation with great interest. 

He addressed a few words to the corporal, who replied 
promptly, though in subdued tones: 

Ay, ay, sir, I understand. The body is at the prefect- 
ure. It had just been taken there when I was ordered ta 
start toward the river in search of the assassin. 

It was Chancel ade who committed the murder, un-^ 
questionably. I have satisfied myself that his gun has just 
been fired. I ran my finger into the end of the barrel, and 
when I drew it out, it was black with powder."" 

You can say as much to the procureur, my good fel- 
low; and then we will see how the prisoner explains the 
fact."" 

As he spoke, M. Vignory allowed the gendarmes to pass- 
him, and resumed his place beside the faithful Mouleydieiv 

A few minutes" walk brought them to the garden in front 
of the sub-prefecture, where they were met by the super- 
intendent of police and one or two subordinates. 

After a short conference, Louis Ohancelade was left 
under the surveillance of the two gendarmes, while M. 
Vignory, young Mouleydier, and the corporal entered the 
house. 

The prisoner had lost none of his calmness; on the con- 
trary, he seated himself quietly upon the steps of the man- 
sion like a man who feels the need of a rest, after a long 
walk. 

His guards sympathized with him in their secret heai:ts,, 
and one of them offered him a cigarette, which he accepted 
and smoked as he sat refiecting upon his situation, and 
preparing to meet his accusers. 

He waited some time, for M. Vignory had to relate the 
particulars of the chase to the magistrate, to explain the 
part young Mouleydier had taken in it, and to advise them 
to wring a confession from the culprit by means of the 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


27 


‘^emotion he could but feel on being brought unexpectedly 
into the presence of the man he had slain. 

ISTearly twenty minutes had elapsed when the corporal 
reappeared and requested Chancelade to follow him. After 
conducting the prisoner upstairs^ the corporal opened a 
door and ushered him into a large room where the sub-pre- 
fect^ the government prociireur and his assistant were 
seated around a table. 

Young Mouleydier had modestly ensconced himself in 
the embrasure of a window, and near the foot of a bed, the 
-curtains of which were closely drawn, stood Dr. Thiviers, 
the oldest and most respected physician in Salviac. 

This rather imposing array did not trouble Louis Chan- 
*celade in the least, however. He knew all the parties pres- 
ent, at least by sight, and consequently noted the absence 
of the judge of instruction, who had gone to Bordeaux to 
confer with the attorney-general in regard to the case of 
Adhemar de Mussidan, which the government hesitated to 
send before a mixed commission. 

President Bourdeille, having no jurisdiction in the mat- 
ter, had prudently gone liome. 

"'Corporal, remove the prisoner's handcuffs," com- 
manded the procureur. 

And the order having been obeyed: 

"Approach!" he said to Chancelade, who advanced, 
folded his arms upon his breast, and waited. 

" I do not ask your name. I know it. You were prin- 
cipal of the public school at Xesguillas, and you were 
deprived of your position on account of insubordination and 
a failure to fulfill your duties." . 

"ISTo, sir. I was dismissed on account of my political 
opinions," replied Chancelade, coldly. "" 

" The superintendent of schools reported last month that 
you had left your charge without the permission of your 
superiors." 

" I came to Salviac to make an attempt to see my father, 
who was under arrest, but this consolation was denied me. " 

" And you seized upon this pretext to absent yourself 
from the school which had been intrusted to your charge." 

" That is to say I absented myself at night and returned 
by early dawn to Lesguillas, which I reached in time to 
perform my duties. I hoped to move the heart of the man 
upon whom my father's fate depended. After my dismiss- 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


al I came to Salviac to live with my sister. Yesterday I 
again entreated the commissioner to grant me permission 
to visit the prison. In reply, he threatened to have me: 
locked up there, if I did not cease my importunities, and 
then forcibly ejected me from the room.^^ 

^^In that case you doubtless feel a deep resentment 
against him. 

Something far deeper than resentment— hatred!'^ 

, You admit it?^^ 

Why should I not admit it? If I ever have an oppor-^ 
tunity for revenge, I certainly intend to avail myself of 
it.^^ 

Let us proceed, said the magistrate, after exchanging 
meaning glances with the sub-prefect. You were arrested 
a few moments ago, just as you were re-entering your house.. 
Where had you been?^^ 

Taking a walk.^^ 

On a cold night like this, and with a gun on your 
shoulder? You ought rather to say that you had been out. 
hunting.'’^ 

I have nothing whatever to say on the subject. I cer- 
tainly have a right to go and come when I please. It is no 
crime to go out in a snow storm. 

‘‘'No, but one usually has some object in view when one 
does. Had you been to Lesguillac, your former home?'^ 

“ Possibly. I am not obliged to give an account of my 
actions. 

At what hour did you leave homeF^ 

I can not say precisely. I have no watch. 

you positively refuse to tell me what you did 
during the time that elapsed between your depai-ture and 
your return ?^^ 

I will tell you, perhaps, when you have explained why 
you are so anxious to know. 

‘^I will explain, then,^^ replied the procureuVy in a 
solemn tone. 

Corporal, conduct the prisoner to the bed.^'’ 

That is not necessary,^" replied Chancelade, coolly. I . 
can go very well by myself. 

^ And he walked forward until he stood beside tlie physi- 
cian, who seemed much more deeply agitated than the sup- 
posed culprit. 


THE PRETTY JA.ILER. 


29 


I cfoctor/^ continued the p7^ocioretcr, mil jon 

, kindly lift the curtains of the bed?^^ 

The doctor obeyed; then taking a lamp that was stand- 
ing near, he held it in such a way as to throw the light full 
on the dead man^s face. 

‘^^The commissioner! and dead!^^ exclaimed Chancelade^ 

So there is justice in Heaven, after all!^^ 

The words which had escaped the prisoner were not calcu- 
lated to conciliate the judges, much less to change their 
opinion in regard to his guilt. 

Brought suddenly into the presence of the murdered man,, 
this fanatic had exclaimed: So there is justice in Heaven, 
after all!"'’ which was equivalent to saying: The deed was. 
a righteous one!"" 

He had given no start of astonishment; his eyes were 
dry. Instead of compassionating the fate of the unfortu- 
nate official, he seemed to rejoice at his death. 

A murmur of indignation greeted the words. Even Dr. 
Thiviers, a worthy man, who had attended Edmee during* 
an attack of typhoid fever, and who felt kindly disposed 
toward* Louis, gave a disapproving gesture; the sub-prefect 
raised his hands in holy horror, and the assistant procw^eui* 
shuddered, and averted his face. 

Still, had these gentlemen taken time to reflect, they 
would, perhaps, have come to the conclusion that this 
language was not that of a guilty man. An assassin, in 
such a case, would have concealed his animosity, and would 
have trembled and turned pale. 

Chancelade remained utterly unmoved. But magistrates, 
like the rest of mankind, are wont to be quickly impressed 
by an imprudent word, and their first impressions are not. 
always correct ones. 

‘'^This man was alive and well one short hour ago,"" said 
the procureur^ in a rather sanctimonious tone. He had 
restored peace to this arrondissement, shaken to its center 
by a wicked insurrection. You killed him for having done 
his duty, and now you show no pity for the victim of your 
bullet. What sort of a man are you?"" 

^^Did he show mercy to my father, this man whom you 
style a peace-maker, but who showed mercy to no one?"^ 
replied Chancelade, vehemently. do not know who 

killed him, but I am sure it was some one who had the 
loss of his nearest and dearest to avenge."" 


so 


THE PKETTY JAILEK. 


Which was precisely the case with you/^ « 

Yes; but if I had killed him, I should have done it in 
the streets of Salviac, and in broad daylight/^ 

How do you know that these were not the circum- 
stances under which the crime was committed 

I saw the commissioner at five o^clock. He was enter- 
ing the prefecture. I suppose it was not there that he was 
shot?^^ 

Then you were in the town at five o^clock?^^ 
^^ProbaWy.^^ 

And you were also here at eleven o^clock, hiding under 
the terrace back of the club house. You undoubtedly knew 
that the commissioner was going there — 

And in what way could I have become aware of that 
fact, pray.^^^ 

Answer me instead of constantly interrupting me. 
Monsieur Santelli entered the parlor of the club-house at 
eleven o^clock in company with the sub-prefect. The gen- 
tlemen approached the window. You fired, and then ran 
away. 

I deny it.^^ 

I am sure of it, nevertheless. But tell me, in return- 
ing home, what route did you take?^^ 

I returned home by way of the main street, and I 
found the gendarmes already there, led, I presume, by the 
«ub-prefect and that young coward who is hiding over yon- 
''tler. 

^^Do not insult the witnesses, and do notho])e to escape 
.my questions by indulging in abuse. 

You do not usually wear, the costume in which you are 
now arrayed. Why are you dressed in this garb?^^ 

have been seen a hundred times in the same clothes 
I am wearing now. Indeed, I never wear any others when 
J go into the country. 

Was it with the intention of going into the country 
that you took a gun — the gun the corporal seized 

No, it was to defend myself in case I should be at- 
tacked. The roads are not very safe since your commis- 
.sioner pacified the arrondissement,^^ 

Your expectation of an attack must have been realized, 
for two shots seem to have been recently fired from your 
gun. Both barrels are black with powder, the corporal 
says. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


31 


••TVliat does that prove? There are many wolves in the 
neighborhood, and in winter, and especially when snow is 
on the ground, they are always prowling around. 

•*' You are not speaking seriously, I am sure. It was at 
a man that you fired.” 

•* Then I must have missed the first shot, since I was 
obliged to fire a second bullet to kill him, and you just, 
told me that the commissioner received but one wound. ” 

This argument was imanswerable, and the procureur 
being unprepared for it, said nothing for a moment. 

Is there anything to prove that but one shot was fired 
he asked at length, with a meaning look at the sub-j)refect. 

I heard but one report,” replied M. Vignory, and if 
another bullet had been fired, it is probable that I should 
have received it.” 

•'* The corporal may be mistaken. The barrels of the 
gun must be examined by an expert,” said the proctireu^y, 
feeling himseK worsted on this point. ^^Let us proceed. 

•* To what?” replied the prisoner, insolently. ^^I have 
told you all I have to tell you, and I shall say no more.” 

Then your examination will end here for this evening,, 
but it will be resumed to-morrow by the judge of instruct 
tion: and in the meantime, I must consign you to prison.. 
But before doing so, I should remind you that if you can 
prove an alibi this is the time to do it.” 

• • I did so some time ago when I told you I was not in 
Salviac when the murder was committed.” 

It is not enough for you to merely say so. You must 
prove the truth of your assertion, w^hich can certainly be 
no very difficult matter if you are telling the truth. Give 
us an account of the way in which you spent your time 
from the hour at which you w^ere last seen in the towm, to 
the hour of your return home. 

That is something I absolutely refuse to do,” replied 
Chancelade, after a short silence. 

You should recoUect that this refusal places you in a 
very bad light.” 

•• I admit it, but I have my reasons for it.^^ 

••'Then you will be taken to prison without delay, and I 
warn you that you will be placed in solitary confinement. ” 

•• I expected as much. You condemned my father, who 
was no more guilty than I am, to the same fate. I am even 
prepared to be transported without a trial. Send me into 


S2 


THE PKETTY JAILEK. 


exile, if it so please you. It matters very little to me. You 
€an not prevent my sister from joining me. But let us put 
:an end to this farce. I am very tired. I should like to 
rest, and I shall sleep as soundly in prison as in my own 
hedathome.^^ 

Then, turning to the physician, Louis added: 

^^My dear doctor, do me the favor to close the curtains 
of that bed. The sight of Monsieur Santelli^s dead body 
has failed to produce the anticipated impression upon me, 
and these gentlemen, like myself, think this lugubrious or- 
deal has lasted quite long enough.'’^ 

Dr. Thiviers mechanically obeyed. He was beginning 
to regain his wonted self-possession, and to hope that the 
Brother of his great favorite. Mile. Edmee, had not a crime, 
that passion alone could excuse, upon his conscience. 

Corporal, continued the procureur, take two of your 
i4.en, and conduct the accused to prison. 

Then, turning to his assistant, he added: 

Monsieur Bizouin, you will be so kind as to accompany 
the corporal, and to see that the prisoner is placed in a 
separate cell, and allowed no intercourse with the other 
prisoners until further orders. When this is done, bring 
the superintendent to me. I wish to give him some further 
instructions. ^ 

^^By all means advise him to chain- me securely/'’ 
sneered Chancelaffe. intend to escape at the first o])- 
portunity, for I doiiT cx)unt much upon your justice.'’^ 

The magistrate smiled scornfully, and said to Mouley- 
tlier, who was beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable : 

I will detain you no longer, sir. M e shall soon require 
jour testimony, but you can now retire.'’^ 

Let him pass out in advance of me, then,^^ exclaimed 
the prisoner. I will not descend the stairs with the cow- 
ardly informer who caused my arrest.'’" 

No urging was required to induce Mouleydier to hasten 
his departure j and a moment after he left the room, Chan- 
celade too departed without a word. 

He retired, however, with all the honors of war. The 
* fvocitreur looked at the sub-prefect, who, in turn, glanced 
at the physician; and the two officials wore a rather crest- 
fallen air, while the good doctor was not at all sorry that 
Chancelade had defended himself so ably. 

^^That man is an audacious rascal!"" remarked the 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


33 


magistrate^ who could not forgive the former teacher for 
his arrogant manner. 

Audacious and shrewd as well/^ replied M. Vignory, 
imnoyed that the carefully planned confrontation had 
proved a failure. ^^The only argument he advanced was 
certainly a very plausible one. I am satisfied that but one 
shot was fired from the terrace, and if his gun was really 
fired twice— 

That remains to be proved. I shall not be content 
with a cursory examination."’'^ 

Permit me to add, gentlemen, interposed the doctor, 
that the wound does not seem to have been made by an 
ordinary rifie. I am satisfied that the autopsy will furnish 
proofs of the truth of this assertion. 

And I am satisfied that an investigation will explain 
this apparent contradiction. Our judge of instruction will 
be here to-morrow, and I shall place the case in his hands. 
There is certainly sufficient circumstantial evidence to in- 
isure the prisoner's indictment. This Chancelade had sworn 
to avenge his father. 

He is not the only person who entertained a violent 
hatred against the commissioner. That idiot, Baron de 
Mussidan, has not only insulted him in the grossest man- 
ner, but he has uttered the most violent threats against 
him. 

That is true,^^ admitted the sub-prefect. I have heard 
him myself; but he is safe under lock and key. I hope we 
.shall soon get him off our hands, however, for he is a very 
Jangerous' prisoner. One of these days, if we donT keep 
sin eye on him, he will be setting fire to the prison. 

But, my dear 2W0cuTeur, I will leave you to give your 
orders to the superintendent of the prison, and turn my own 
' attention to my correspondence. I shall have enough to 
keeji me busy until morning. Good-night. I shall not neg- 
lect in my report to do justice to the zeal and intel- 
ligence you have displayed on this lamentable occasion. 

With these words he stalked majestically out of the room, 
but when he regained the privacy of liis own apartments he 
Tubbed his hands complacently, and said to himself : 

^^A good beginning, truly! They will cease to think 
HOW, at the state department, that men of fashion are good 
for nothing. I shall soon be a full-fledged prefect — that 
is certain. 


2 


34 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


He little foresaw the crushing blow that was in store for 
him, however. 


CHAPTEE II. 

In Paris the building of prisons has been brought to a 
state of perfection. They are constructed of massive stone, 
isolated from all other buildings, surrounded by insur- 
mountable walls, and guarded, foth within and without,, 
by lynx-eyed sentinels. Within, the cells are whitewashed, 
and the keepers would instantly detect the slightest scratch. 

"" I shall never escape from here,'" said Orsini, who had 
escaped from so many Austrian fortresses — even from the 
formidable citadel of Mantoue — when the doors of a 
Parisian prison closed behind him. 

In several of the large provincial cities the prisons are 
models of their kind, but in most of the small towns the 
old system still prevails. 

The prison is generally an old convent or chateau; and 
in order to spare the municipal purse as much as possible, 
the smallest possible amount has been spent on alterations* 
and repairs. The prisoners are lodged as is most con- 
venient, and there is generally abundant room for them,, 
for in ordinary times they are not numerous and their 
sojourn is not long. 

The citizens of Salviac, upon the Dronne, had devoted 
to tliis use the buildings belonging to a sisterhood of Ur- 
sulines, who had been driven away by the first revolution r, 
and these buildings were so large that there was abundant 
room for the court-rooms and the prefecture as well. In 
fact, there were three distinct buildings, and the barracks, 
occupied by the geiiclarmes were not far ofi. 

Before the late political excitement the office of jailer 
had been a sinecure in Salviac, and the old trooper who 
filled it lived on almost fraternal terms with the poor devils 
he guarded — peasants imprisoned for poaching and robbing 
hen-roosts, and drunkards sentenced to a few days' im- 
prisonment for making a disturbance at night, or fighting* 
on the public streets or highways. 

But after the. insurrection of the second of December a 
great change was apparent, for over forty prisoners were to 
be provided for, and strict surveillance became an imper- 
ative necessity. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


35 


The nuns^ large dining-room was transformed into a 
dormitory for the less important prisoner^, and the ring- 
leaders were confined in separate cells. The former apart- 
ments of the superior became the apartments of the new 
superintendent, who had been sent straight from Paris 
after serving an apprenticeship in the prisons there, though 
he too was an old soldier. 

His name was Marteau; he was about fifty years of 
age, and though he had never risen above the rank of 
orderly-sergeant, he had deported himself, in a very credit- 
able mannner in his ten African campaigns. His failure 
to receive the cross of the Legion of Honor was, in fact, 
-due almost entirely to the fact that he was unpopular with 
his superiors 'Oil account of his disposition. Kot that he 
"was insubordinate; on the contrary, his love of discipline 
verged upon fanaticism. But he was harsh to his inferiors, 
sarcastic to his equals, and surly to everybody. 

The man was a born jailer, and had finally entered uiion 
his vocation through the infiuence of a general who had in- 
terested himself in Marteau, to the extent of arranging' a 
very advantageous matrimonial alliance for him. 

Pierre Marteau, middle-aged, poor, and unprepossessing 
in every respect, married in 1849 a charming young lady of 
twenty-nine summers, remarkably pretty, graceful, well- 
bred, accomplished, and the possessor of a neat little dow- 
ry of sixty thousand francs. 

Mile. Aurelie de Saint- Amour, the orphaned daughter 
of a captain in the army who died penniless, was reduced 
to giving lessons on the piano, and finally accepting the 
position of governess in the family of the sister of Pierre 
Marteau^s protector. She was tired of the celibacy to 
which her poverty condemned her, and finally consented to 
follow the advice of the general, who urged her to accept, 
as a husband, a man who was by no means attractive in 
manners or person, but who was a person of sterling worth, 
and sure of rapid advancement in his new calling. 

Aurelie resigned herself to her fate, and when a distant 
relative left her a nice little legacy about a month before 
her marriage, she evinced no desire to break her plighted 
troth. 

Strange to say, the marriage had been a tolerably happy 
-one. Marteau was not very amiable, and his manners were 
.sadly wanting in distinction, but he adored his wife, and 


36 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


what is more^ he respected her^ and trusted her implicitly. 
For some time after their marriage^ the pair occupied a. 
pleasant flat on the Isle Saint Louis, and the beautiful 
Aurelie did not seem inclined to complain of her lot, though 
she was very anxious for her husband^s advancement, and 
their friend, the general, who was devoted to the new regime^ 
took advantage of the opportunity to give his protege a. 
sort of mission-extraordinary. The gOT^ernment needed 
a trusty man to guard the insurgents of Dordogne, tem- 
porarily confined in the prison of Salviac; and Pierre 
Marteau was appointed, with the promise of soon receiving 
a better position. 

His wife evinced a slight unwillingness to follow him at 
first, but finally consented, on condition that she should be^ 
allowed to pay occasional visits to Paris if their exile 
proved of long duration. 

Pierre went first, to take possession of his post and alsa 
to prepare suitable quarters for his dear Aurelie. He sue- 
ceeded admirably. In less than a week the four rooms as- 
signed to the new jailer had been cleaned and freshly painted 
and papered. The furniture came down from Paris, 
the following week — furniture more luxurious than the 
wealthiest citizens of Salviac possessed — and a superb Erard 
piano, the generaPs wedding-gift. 

Consequently, the day after Hew-year's Mme. Marteau 
had only to bring her trunks in order to be comfortably 
established in her new home. 

The sensation produced by her arrival was truly wonder- 
ful, and the idlers who witnessed it counted five immense 
trunks, and were loud in their praises of her beauty and 
elegance. 

By night, everybody was talking about the jaileFs beauti- 
ful wife, and that sobriquet clung to her. 

She was shrewd enough to pay no visits. A jailer is not 
in society: she would have been coldly received, and she 
was too proud to expose herself to slights. 

A few officials called to see her— fliose who were unniar- 
ried — and among them the sub-prefect; but she received 
them with great reserve, like a woman who realizes the 
inferiority of her position, and without a shadow of co^ 
quetry. She even declined the sub-prefeePs offer to come 
and practice duets with her. 

To tell the truth, we must admit that Charles \ ignory. 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 37 

in spite of his Parisian chic, did not impress her very favor- 
ably. 

She had been in the habits from the very firsts of going 
out very little. She was occasionally seen on the j)rom- 
enade^ leaning on her husband^’s arm^ and at mass on Sun- 
day, but that was all. 

She confined herself in her apartments of her own free 
will, and seemed to enjoy herself there, though they were 
far from cheerful. 

Some of her windows looked out upon the ojDen fields, it 
is true, but the others overlooked the prison-yard, and 
surely nothing could be less cheerful than to watch poor 
wretches dragging themselves gloomily about a j^nson 
court-yard. 

Aurelie spent most of her time in playing the jiiano, and 
as she was a capital performer she charmed the ears of the 
prisoners. Strains of the sweetest melody constantly per- 
vaded the place, and Southerners are never insensible to 
the charms of music. 

One ^ir from Guillaume Tell:''' Toi qite Voiseau ne 
snivrait pas, was a particular favorite with her, and every 
day while her husband was engaged in his duties, this fa- 
miliar melody floated to the cells of the prisoners. 

When she wished to go out, she was not obliged to pass 
through the clerk's office. A private staircase led to her 
apartments, and this she invariably used. 

She rarely saw her husband except at meal-time, for he 
occupied a separate sleeping apartment, fearing to disturb 
his wife when he got up io make his round, which an excess 
of zeal led him to do several times every night. 

On the night of Louis Chancelade's arrest he did not go 
to bed at all, so at noon, the following day, his wife, who . 
generally slept most of the morning, had not seen him at 
all. 

He came in to their one-o'clock dinner, and by his un- 
usually thoughtful and abstracted manner his wife judged 
that something important must have happened since the 
evening before. 

''What is the matter, my dear?" she asked, affection- 
ately. 

"My burden of responsibility becomes heavier from day 
to day," replied Marteau, sulkily. " I already had that 
handsome Baron de Mussidan, the most dangerous man in 


38 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


the country^ on my hands; and now, I am charged with 
the task of guarding the commissioner-generaFs assassin. 

Monsieur Santelli!^^ exclaimed Mme. Marteau. The 
gentleman who visited the prison yesterday! He has been 
killed, you say.^^^ 

Yes. He was shot last night. 

Has the assassin been captured 
^^He was arrested almost immediately. The sub-prefect 
captured him, I believe. He was brought to the prison 
about midnight, and I had no end of trouble in finding a 
separate cell for him. Indeed, I was up until daybreak, 
and when I did go to bed, I could not close my eyes. I 
am positively worn out, and nearly starved, besides. 

Dinner is ready, my dear. Who is the wretch 

A former teacher — a certain Louis Ohancelade.^^ 

The brother of the young girl I sometimes meet on 
the street. She is very pretty, and the brother is a fine- 
looking fellow. 

Yes, he would have made a stunning cavalry ofiPicer. 
But his race is nearly run now. He will be guillotined, 
and speedily. It wonT take long to dispose of his case. 
They will want to make an example of him, and they are 
right. This accursed arrondissement is full of rascals who 
would be only too glad to begin the work of last month 
over again. 

I am afraid so. But are they sure that this young 
man is really guilty 

It runs in the blood. His father, who has been im- 
prisoned here for the past six weeks, was forwarded to 
Toulon last night, en route for Cayenne. 

^MVhat! the old man who occupied the cell at the end 
of the court-yard 

Yes; and I locked the son up in the same cell for want 
of another one, and I begin to repent of it already, for the 
'procureur ordered me to keep him in solitary confinement; 
and from the cell he now occupies he can exchange signs 
with that Mussidan who was the prime mover in the whole 
affair. 

But, my dear, their windows are barred so closely that 
even from my room I can scarcely distinguish the baron^s 
features when he comQs to his window. 

‘ ^ Still, you can see him. These grated windows do not 
answer the purpose. I am going to have them walled up.'’^ 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


39 


That will be hard, indeed, on the poor wretches. 

""You need not pity them. If they had succeeded here, 
and in Paris, we should be where they are now. Come, let 
us eat our dinner. 

Aurelie preceded her husband into the cozy dining-room 
where the soup was smoking upon the table, but she 
seemed to have little or no appetite. Pierre Marteau, on 
the contrary, ate so like an ogre that he had time to ex- 
change only few words with his wife during the repast. 

Toward the close of the meal, when the servant had 
left the room after serving the coffee, she said, gently: 

"" My dear, it seems to me that it would be the right 
thing for me to go and give Mademoiselle Chancelade tid- 
ings of her brother, and to try to console her. 

"" Are you mad?^^ exclaimed the chief jailer. "" Do you 
want to ruin me.^ I was not sent here to maintain cordial 
relations with the prisoners^ families. 

""You were not, of course; but I am not a part of the 
administration. I only fulfill a woman^s mission in alle- 
viating the hardships of the prisoners, and I am sure the 
powers that be will not disapprove of iny doing so. It is 
not to the interest of the government to exercise unneces- 
sary severity. Such, at least, is the opinion of General 
Plancoet, who wrote you to that effect only a few days 

"" That is to say he urged me to show all possible favor 
to Mussidan, under the pretext that he is a great favorite 
in Perigord, and even in Paris. 

"" He adds that the baron has a warm defender in the 
president, and that it is quite possible he will be released 
after an imprisonment of two or three months.'’^ 

"" While they transport the poor peasants he incited to 
rebellion. That would be a fine state of things, surely. 
But that is their business; and I have no desire to perse- 
cute this baron, though he is the most troublesome prison- 
er I ever had under my charge. He sings forbidden songs 
all day long, and plays an accordion I was fool enough to 
let him have. I allow him to have his meals sent to him, 
and he abuses the jDrivilege by throwing slices of incite to 
the prisoners he sees walking about the yard.'^^ 

"" You forget that the prisoners are friends of his.'’^ 

""Pretty friends for a nobleman to have — farm-hands 


40 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


and vagabonds! And to cap the climax^ he gets drunk 
every night on champagne.'’'’ 

Are you sure?'’^ asked Aurelie^ tranquilly. 

Yes, his cousin, the Count de Sigoules, sent him a bas- 
ket of it, with any quantity of other dainties/^ 

Oh, well, who can tell? The wind may change, and 
if Monsieur de Mussidan'’s party should ever come inTo 
power, the baron may be of great service to us. 

I doiiT think it worth while to count upon that. One 
thing is certain, Ohancelade will never do us any good. 
He is sure to end his days on the guillotine, as he has a 
murder on his shoulders.'’^ 

^^But his sister has no cause to reproach herself, I am 
sure. '’'’ 

Except for being a rabid republican, and that is quite 
reason enough for you to keep away from her. '’'’ 

have no idea of becoming intimate with her, but I 
persist in the belief that the step I spoke of would be com- 
mended by. the people of Salviac. Consult the sub-prefect 
on the subject, and see what he will say.'’^ 

Well, do as you please,'’'’ growled Pierre, after a short 
silence, that is, 23rovided you say nothing more to me about 
it. I know my duty, and I shall do it. I must go and 
see the 'procxiveiir now; he wants to know how Chan- 
celade has behaved since he was locked up. I can not 
complain of him, I must admit. He makes no more noise 
in his cell than a snake in his hole. After my visit to the 
2 )rociireur, I shall have to go to the barracks, so it will 
probably be five oYlock before I can get back. Good-bye, 
give me a kiss before I go.'’^ 

Aurelie lifted her forehead to receive her husband^s 
caress Avith exemplary submission, but as soon as her liege 
lord left her, she returned to her little drawing-room, and 
opened the Avindow, though the day Avas very cold. 

The court-yard Avas descried, it not being the hour for 
the prisoners'’ jiromenade, as Mme. Marteau kncAV perfectly 
Avell. 

Opposite her, on the other side of the couid-yard, was 
the Aving reserved for the prisoners Avho occupied separate 
cells. The gloomy Avail of graystone Avas broken by three 
heavily barred Avindows, and the one that lighted the room 
occupied by Adhemar de Mussidan Avas exactly opposite 
the jailer'’s drawing-room. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


41 


The other two were in rooms occupied by prisoners Avho 
had the money to pay for them. On the rights in still 
another wing of the building, the jailer had placed Louis 
Chancelade, who was at that moment lost in a deep 
slumber. 

Aurelie, after a short stay at the window, seated herself 
at her piano, and began to play her favorite air from 

Guillaume Tell,^^ with great spirit. 

Before it was ended, some one began, upon an accordion, 
the air — Vive Henri lY,^^ and a manly form apjieared at 
the window opposite. 

Mme. Marteau sprung up, and without advancing to the 
window, threw a kiss to her vis-a-vis, who returned the 
salute with enthusiasm. 

Just then, a ray of bright sunlight shone full upon the 
face of the young nobleman, who was certainly the ideal of 
a handsome cavalier. 

Adhemar, Baron de Mussidan, resembled his compatriot, 
Louis Chancelade, only in stature. He was as tall as the 
latter, but more slender, and had the fair complexion and 
hair of an English nobleman. He wore a long, silky mus- 
tache, and his large blue eyes could not only win a woman^s 
heart, but face danger unflinchingly. They were beautiful 
eyes, as changeful as the sea; now soft and tender, now 
haughty and flashing. He had a finely cut mouth with 
perfect teeth; and a nose of aristocratic contour w&s the 
crowning beauty of this very pleasing and manly face. 

After this interchange of salutes, a spirited pantomine 
began, which a looker-on might have failed to understand, 
but which was perfectly intelligible to the participants. 

A gesture from Aurelie told Adhemar that there was a 
new prisoner; another, indicated the window of the cell 
occupied by Louis Chancelade; whereupon, the baron made 
a questioning movement of the head, signifying: ^^Will 
you?^^ A reply in the affirmative was followed by a vigor- 
ous telegraphing, during which Aurelie counted up to 
twelve upon her fing^s. 

That was all. They understood each other, and the 
baron left the window. Aurelie noiselessly closed hers, 
passed into her chamber, and as she always made a careful 
toilet in the morning to go out, she had only to put on her 
bonnet, a ravishing creation of her Paris milliner, and a 


42 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


beautiful velvet mantle well calculated to excite the emy 
of all Salviac womankind. 

She leisurely descended the staircase, opened the little 
door of which she alone had the key, relocked it carefully, 
and stepped out upon the snowy and slippery pavement of 
the narrow street that led to the triangular park in front 
of the tavern frequented by the country gentry of the 
neighborhood. 

Old Count de Segoules chanced, at that very moment, to 
be standing in the door-way of the inn, looking to see if the 
stable-boy had harnessed his horse properly to the tilbury 
which was to tak^ him back to his castle. He had been 
quite a gay Lothario under the Eestoration, and even now, 
he never allowed a pretty woman to pass without examin- 
ing her with a critical eye, so it was not likely that the 
lovely creature who came gliding so lightly and gracefully 
toward him would fail to excite his admiration and interest. 

It seemed to be a remarkable day, for at that very mo- 
ment JEdmee Chancelade was advancing from the opposite 
direction, and the two beauties of Salviac were infallibly 
doomed to meet under the admiring eyes of the gallant 
nobleman. 

Edmee and Aurelie were utterly unlike in appearance. 
The former, a brunette, tall, pale, and slight, strongly re- 
sembled one of those rather delicate and stately virgins 
wEich*German artists of the fifteenth century were so fond 
of portraying. 

She advanced slowly, with downcast eyes, and arms 
folded under the heavy woolen cloak which the peasant 
women of Perigord wear in winter, and this perfect sim- 
plicity of bearing and attire, suited her rather severe beauty 
marvelously. 

Aurelie, on the contrary, was a perfect blonde, with hair 
the color of ripe wheat, blue eyes, sparkling with mischief 
and coquetry, and as she tripped lightly along, her tiny 
feet scarcely touched the rough pavememt. 

Two contrasting and entirely dissimilar types of beauty. 
A connoisseur would have found it difficult to choose be- 
tween them, though it is quite probable that old Count de 
Sigoules secretly preferred the Parisienne. 

But he had recognized the daughter of his tenant in the 
distance, and did not want to miss such a good opportunity 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 43 

to give her a public mark of the sympathy her misfortunes 
had excited in his breast. 

He advanced to meet hei% and he was about to bow to 
to her^ hat in hand, with all the traditional gallantry of 

ye olden time but Mme. Marteau walked much more 
rapidly than he did, and so had no difficulty in passing 
him. 

Edmee, who knew the lady by sight, frowned slightly, 
and made a hasty movement, as if to avoid her, but 
almost at the same instant she perceived M. de Segoules 
advancing to speak to her, so she abandoned the attempt. 
Aurelie was not easily disconcerted; besides, she knew the 
count by sight, and was not sorry to have an opportunity 
to make the acquaintance of the great aristocrat of Sal- 
viac. . 

As she had remarked to Pierre, she was anxious to make 
friends in all parties. 

It was not such an easy matter as she supposed, however. 

What do you desire of me?^'’ Edmee asked, dryly. 

I wish to give you tidings of your brother, mademoi- 
selle, replied Aurelie, Avith superb assurance. ^‘1 Avas on 
my Avay to your house, and I am delighted to meet you 
here, for you Avould, perhaps, have refused to see me. 

There is not the slightest doubt of it, madame.^^ 

Yes, I understand you distrust me on accomit of my 
husband^s office. Permit me to assure you that my sym- 
pathies are with the prisoners he guards. He only does 
his duty in faithfully carrying out the orders he receives; 
but I receive none, and I do mine, in endeavoring to allevi- 
ate the hardships and sufferings of the unfortunate. 

This Avas Said in such a tone of sincerity that Mile. Ohan- 
celade Avas touched, and M. de Sigoules surveyed the jailer 's 
beautiful wife with an interest Avhich certainly was not 
hostfle"* in its nature. 

He had joined the ladies, and now kneAv who the fair 
stranger was; but he was so surprised to hear such senti- 
ments proceeding from Mme. Marteau^s cherry lips that he 
quite forgot to address a Avord to Edmee. 

^^Have I not a right to assist the unfortunate. Monsieur 
le Comte she continued, in her SAveetest tones. 

You knoAv me?^^ exclaimed that gentleman, astonished 
to hear her address him by his title. 

Who does not know the Count de Sigoules? I saAv you, 


44 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


for the first time, the other day when my husband found 
himself under the painful necessity of refusing you admis- 
sion to the prison, but I have often heard you spoken of in 
Paris. 

^^By whom, pray?^^ 

^^By a friend of my poor father^s — General Plancoet."^^ 
Plancoet; I knew him well, years ago. We served to- 
gether in the hinge’s guard. But that was long ago, and 
we have traveled such entirely different paths since, that I 
supposed he had forgotten me ere this.'’^ 

He has not forgotten you, however, and when he se- 
cured the appointment in Salviac for my husband, he spoke 
of giving me a letter of introduction to you, but refrained 
from doing so, because lie thought that under the present 
circumstances — 

It would place me in an embarrassing position. He 
was right. Excuse my frankness. You know that we are 
not in the same boat; I detest the regime he serves; but 
ladies have nothing to do with politics, and I am really 
grateful to you for your interest in Edmee^s brother. His 
father, though I do not share his opinions, is a worthy man 
who has been obliged to pay dearly for an act of imprudence, 
and as you are on such friendly terms with Plancoet, you 
should beg him to intercede for him.'’^ 

^‘^My influence with the general is not so great as you 
suppose. Monsieur le Comte,"" replied Aurelie, smiling, 
‘•'^and if I ventured to intercede for any one, it would he 
for Monsieur Louis Ohancelade, who is so unjustly accused 
of a terrible crime."" 

"'Unjustly, yes, madame,"" said Edmee, earnestly. 
"My brother is no coward. He would not stoop to assas- 
sination. If he should be convicted, his judges will be the 
assassins. "" 

"They will find no judges willing to condemirtiim to 
death,"" replied M. de Sigoules. "I defy them to doit. 
But they will send him to Cayenne, as they did his father, 
and that would be still another burning shame."" 

" How is he treated?"" 

"He has been placed in solitary confinement by the 
prociireicr’s orders,"" replied Mme. Marteau. "And — you 
can denounce me to my husband if you choose, but I assure * 
you that, if I can, I shall have the orders which prevent 
him from communicating with his friends annulled. "" 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


That is very kind of you^ but you will not succeed. 

If you do^ it will cost your husband his j^lace, and our 
fpiend Plancoet will be obliged to find him another/^ said 
the old nobleman, with the least possible tinge of irony in 
liis tone. Aurelie colored slightly, but showed no sign of 
anger at the covert sarcasm. 

As you seem so kindly disposed, madame,^^ continued 
M. de Sigoules, perhaps you will give me some news of 
my cousin, Adhemar de Mussidan. He is not under the 
ban, as we are allowed to write to him, though our letters 
are read, of course; but I am not allowed to see him, though " 
the deuce take me if I know why, for I am not a dangerous 
conspirator. The quantity of champagne I send him is 
ruining me, and he seems to be enjoying himself tolerably 
well, for in his last letter he begged me to. cease my at- 
tempts to secure his release, on condition that he will 
leave the country without delay. Upon my word, I begin 
to think that the fool finds his present quarters very much 
to his taste. 

doubt that,^^ was the smiling reply, but he devotes ' 
most of his time to music. 

That explains why .he sent for an accordion. I had no 
idea that he fancied that ridiculous instrument. You will 
say, perhaps, that any diversion is welcome when one is un- 
der lock and key. Pellisson amused himself by taming - 
spiders. 

Pardon me, sir/^ said Edmee, gently, but I can not 
linger here. My brother has no linen with him except that 
he had on at the time of his arrest. I am going to ask 
permission to send him what is absolutely needful, and I 
suppose they will not be so cruel as to refuse my request. •- 

If you do not obtain the desired permission, I will find 
means of sending hinivall you desire, interposed Aurelie, 
eagerly. 

A ^ Good, goodr^ exclaimed M. de Sigoules. ^^Uo one 
need tell me now that beauty and goodness do not go to- 
gether. 

I thank you, madame,^^ said Mile. Chancelade, more " 
coldly. I trust that I shall not be obliged to avail my- 
self of your generous offer, but I am very grateful for it. 

I thank you, too, sir, for not abandoning Louis. You 
were unable to save the father, but you may save the son. 

She passed on, proudly and calmly, directing her steps 


46 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


straight toward the old building which the inhabitants of 
Salviac dignified by the name of the Palace of J ustice. 

A brave girl!^^ murmured the count, watching her, as' 
she moved away. 

He soon recollected that another fair lady was present, 
however; and being a thoroughly well-bred man, he could 
not refrain from saying a few words of thanks for her kind 
intentions. 

Nor did it cost him any great effort to be polite to such 
a charming person. 

Upon my word, madame,^^ he began, I feel very 
grateful to you, not only for the interest you take in that 
poor girl, but, because you have made me twenty years 
younger. Had I been so fortunate as to meet you when I 
was in the guards, I should have left nothing undone tO' 
win your favor. When I talk with you, it seems to me I 
am young again, but unfortunately, we are in Salviac — 

And I am the wife of the jailer.''^ But I expect to go- 
to Paris soon, and I hope my husband will soon be pro- 
moted to a more honorable position. 

Indeed said Sigoules, with some surprise. ^^But 
what is all this?^^ he added, glancing toward the street that, 
bounded the other end of the square. It seems to me I 
hear the bells of a post-chaise. 

Mme. Marteau listened, and heard the roll of carriage 
wheels accompanied by the tinkling of bells, and the loud 
cracking of a whip. 

Such an event was of rare occurrence in Salviac, and the 
shop-keepers, attracted by the sound, had already hastened 
to their store doors to witness the arrival. But this diver- 
sion was far from pleasing to the beautiful Aurelie, who 
thought that this abrupt way of changing the conversation 
was not very polite, and she wished to make her companion 
feel it. • 

Monsieur le Comte, she said, in a slightly piqued tone, 
^^you remind me that a public square is not a drawing- 
room, and that our conversation has lasted too long al- 
ready. 

M. de Sigoules attempted to -protest, but she cut his 
apologies short, by saying: 

I started out for the purpose of calling on Mademoiselle 
Chancelade. I have just met her, and offered her my serv- 
ices, and now it might excite remark if people should see me 


THE PEETTY JAILEK. 


47 


talking any longer witli you. Allow me, therefore, to re- 
turn home, and rest assured that I feel deeply indebted to 
you. You have not been afraid to speak to the jailer^s 
wife in the street, and whatever service I may be able to 
Tender the two prisoners in whom you take an interest, I 
-shall never be able to repay my debt of gratitude to you. 

And without giving the count time to utter a single gal- 
lant word, she retraced her steps, only, instead of proceed- 
ing toward the prison she took the street leading by the 
garden of the sub-prefecture, not with the intention of en- 
tering it, but simply because at the end of this street there 
was a pleasant path that encircled the municipal buildings, 
iand finally led to the prison. ' 

The old nobleman, feeling rather crestfallen at this sud- 
den desertion on the part of his fair companion, was on the 
point of stepping into his tilbury when the vehicle he had 
heard afar off drove up. 

It was a rather shabby coupe, covered with mud, and 
drawn by four superannuated horses, driven by two postil- 
ions. Such an equipage had never appeared in the streets 
of Salviac before, so the windows were soon filled with 
spectators, and the proprietor of the inn rushed out to re- 
ceive the distinguished guest with open arms. 

111 bet a hundred francs that it is a new commission- 
er,^^ growled M. de Sigoules. They lose no time in 
Paris. One man is no sooner killed than they dispatch 
another, who will probably meet the same fate as his pred- 
ecessor. It remains to be seen which will get tired out 
first, the government, or the people of Salviac. 

^^Take care cried the postilion, as he dashed around 
the corner of the square. . 

The count had barely time for a hasty glance as the 
vehicle fiew by. 

^^Ah, ha! I was very much mistaken, he muttered. 

It is not a commissioner, but a lady. I wonder if they 
are going to try lady inspectors now? And this traveler is 
not going to alight at the inn, for the carriage has turned 
into the street leading to the prefecture. How strange! I 
never heard that Vignory was a married man. But I am going 
home. I have had enough of Salviac. There is very little 
going on at Sigoules, but one is at least free from the 
presence of these odious government emissaries. This 
new-comer must be an inspector in petticoats — a spy. I 


48 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


did not have time to see her face, but 1^11 bet my right 
hand that she is as ugly as sin/’ 

While the old nobleman was casting another critical 
glance at his equipage, the coupe driven rapidly on by well- 
paid i^ostilions, was swiftly nearing the sub-prefecture, and 
Mme. Marteau, who had preceded it up the same street,, 
was soon overtaken and compelled to step to one side to 
avoid being run over. 

No less astonished than M. de Sigoules at the unexpected 
appearance of the vehicle, she glanced at its occupant, who 
happened to be gazing out of the carriage window at the 
time. 

Two exclamations of surprise resounded at the same in- 
stant. 

Aurelie!^^ 

Coralie!'’^ 

^^What! is it you?^^ continued the stranger. ^^What 
are you doing here?^^ 

^^And what can have brought you here?^^ retorted 
Mme. Marteau. 

The postilions had reined up their horses at the first 
word. They suspected that these ladies had something to 
say to each other; besides, the horses were glad of an op- 
portunity to rest a moment, as the hill was very steep. 

I have come to see Loo-Loo, said the occupant of the 
caariage. 

And who is Loo-Loo 

^^True! I had not made his acquaintance when you 
ceased to visit me. Loo-Loo is Charlie — Charles Vignory.^* 

The sub-prefect?^^ 

A funny sub-prefect he must be, though I have never 
seen him in the role. 

But how does it happen that you are here in the wilder- 
ness. Are you still living with your husband 

^^Yes.^^ 

And how about th^ general ?^^ 

It was he who sent us to Salviac. He obtained art 
appointment here for my husband. 

A good one, I hope.""^ 

Not particularly, but after awhile I hope we shall be 
more pleasantly situated. But how long do you expect ta 
remain 

A week, possibly a fortnight. I have made a new con- 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


49 ^ 

quests my dear^ a Eussian prince who is very like a bear,, 
but who cares no more for money than he does for water. 
He has gone home to sell a few hundred serfs to get the- 
wherewithal to pass a few months pleasantly in France. In 
the meantime, I am as free as air, so I said to myself : 111 
run down and pay my old friend Charlie a flying visit. He 
hasnl a penny left, but he is such a nice fellow and so 
amusing ! I never heard any one mimic Grassot of the Palais: 
Eoyal as capitally as he can. 

Did you inform him of your intentions 

No, indeed, I wanted to give him a pleasant surprise. 

^^Then he is not expecting you?^^ 

^^No, and I am just wild to see his face when he first 
catches sight of me.'’^ 

I shouldnl be particularly anxious if I were in your 
place. My poor Coralie, you know nothing about tha 
people down here. They are the greatest set of prudes im- 
aginable. By to-morrow everybody in town will have heard 
of the arrival at the house of the sub-prefect.^^ 

Well, what of it? They will think he is married. 

People here are not so stupid as you imagine, and I 
warn you, my dear, that you will ruin the sub-prefect."" 

‘‘I shall be very sorry to do that. I am really very fond 
of him, and should never forgive myself if I caused him 
any trouble. But what can I do under the circumstances? 
I can"t very ^ well tell the postilions, to take me back to 
Paris. An idea occurs to me. I will pass myself off as 
your sister."" 

"" My husband knows that I have no sister, and he would 
not countenance such a deception. "" 

^^^Then I will say that I am Vignory"s cousin. Oh, I 
will arrange matters, never fear. I shall see you often, I . 
hope."" 

I fear that will be impossible."" 

Oh, no, it won"t. But we must not tarry here any 
longer. We shall excite remark. Ate revoir^ my dear. 
Drive on, postilions."" 

The carriage drove off, and Mme. Marteau hastened on 
to escape the groups who had been watching the intervie^f 
irom a distance. 

While she was returning home by the longest route, much 
preoccupied, and by no means pleased at this unexpected 
meeting, Coralie alighted at the door of the prefecture^ 


oO 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


paid the postilions and dismissed them with a majestic 
gesture^ after bidding the concierge^ whose eyes were round 
with astonishment^ take her satchel and wrap^ from the 
^carriage. 

Is Monsieur Vignory at home?^^ she asked. 

Yes, madame/^ stammered that functionary, who had 
grown old in the harness. The suk-prefect is at work in 
his cabinet. He can see no one/^ 

He will see me. Where is his cabinet 

On the floor above, madame, but — 

Very good, very good! I can And my way without as- 
sistance. 

And without paying the slightest attention to the good 
many’s protests, Coralie flew up the steps. 

Office of the sub-prefect,"^ she read upon a door. 

How flne it is to sit enthroned in state in there. Charlie 
must really be a very clever fellow to secure such a good 
place at the very first trial. "" 

She cautiously opened the door, and saw Vignory sitting 
at a desk, with his back toward her, laboriously composing 
his report upon the assassination of the commissioner. So 
deeply was he engrossed in -this important work tliat he did 
not notice the opening and closing of the door. 

His visitor stole up behind him on tiptoe, placed her 
hands over his eyes, and cried: 

Guess who it is!"" 

Vignory, furiously angry, tried to turn. Fully impressed 
with a sense of the dignity of his office, he knew no one 
oapable of indulging in such a pleasantry. 

But Coralie would not let go her hold. She followed 
his movement without taking her hands from his eyes, and, 
bursting into a hearty laugh, exclaimed: 

Come, come; don"t get angry, but guess who is it."" 

Vignory, instead of replying, angrily shook himself 
loose, rose, but paused, speechless with astonishment, on 
beholding his visitor. 

Coralie!"" he gasped at last, after he had partially re- 
covered from his surprise and consternation. 

Yes, my dear fellow, Coralie — Coralie, who has not 
forgotten her old friend, but who comes to cheer him in his 
exile at the cost of no little suffering and fatigue on her 
part — nine hours of railway travel to Chateauroux, and a 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


51 


fourteen-hours^ drive over the most execrable roads in the 
universe. Ah! you may indeed be proud of my devotion.^'' 
Then^ seeing him still stand there, the very personifica- 
tion of dismay and consternation, she added: 

So this is my reception! A cool one, upon my word! 
Don^t you think you could muster up courage to kiss me, 
if only for politeness^ sake?^^ 

Vignory longed to do it, but dared not. His greatness 
sternly forbade it. 

^^Oh, yes, I see. You are afraid of compromising your- 
self. Why, you great simpleton, there is nobody here!""^ 
He could resist the temptation no longer. He forgot 
that he was a sub-prefect, and kissed his pretty visitor 
with a zest that was unquestionably genuine. 

I am glad to see you looking and acting like yourself 
again,^^ she exclaimed. If you had stood there glaring at 
me much longer, I should have gone straight back to 
Paris. 

Then, as Vignory left her in order to go and lock the 
door, she added: 

So you are afraid some one will come in and find me 
here — you, who used to be glad enough to be seen with me 
anywhere. Only to think that six weeks could make such 
a change in a man ! Oh, well, I have come down to have 
a little fun at the expense of these antediluvians, and 
Eichard will soon be himself again. 

But your visit will create a great deal of unpleasant 
gossip. They will hear of it at the department to-morrow, 
and by next week I shall be deposed. Whom did you see 
on your arrival 

Only an old idiot in a queer sort of livery who tried 
to prevent me from coming up. He seemed awfully shock- 
ed. You should have seen his face. He must have taken 
me for the wife of your prefect — but no, she must be quite 
an old woman. He was an honest-looking fellow, though, 
and I intrusted my jewel-case to him. It will be quite 
safe, I suppose. That was all I brought with me, my 
trunks will come down on the coach. ” 

Addressed to me doubtless, plaintively murmured 
poor Vignory, who was beginning to lose his head com- 
pletely. 

I could not very well send them to the Cure of Salviac 
or the chief justice.'"^ 


o2 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


Then I know wliat is in store for me. In less than a 
week I shall have lost my position^ and be back in the 
•streets of Paris. • 

‘ * Where, between ourselves, you would have done much 
better to remain. 

Without funds 

Oh, thaPs a fact. I had forgotten. Have you really 
spent all your money 

""^To tike very last centime, and Fm twenty thousand 
francs in debt besides. You can imagine how delightful 
Parisian life would be under such circumstances!^^ 

Anything would certainly be better than living in this 
dull hole; besides, there are always plenty of opportunities 
for a shrewd fellow like yourself to relieve his fortunes. 
Still, you seem anxious to retain your office, strange as it 
may appear, and that being the case, I should be very 
sorry to be the cause of your losing it. Shall I return by 
post as I came?^^ 

You came down by post?^^ 

Of course. Do you suppose a woman like myself 
would travel in a diligence. I hired at Chateauroux an 
old coupe that the fashionable ladies of the place use when 
they go to parties, and by feeing the postilions liberally, 
they managed to get me here at a fair rate of speed. 

''^And on your arrival you drove straight to the sub- 
prefecture?^^ 

‘'^Of course. 

That caps the climax! To do it, you must have crossed 
the square in front of the inn where all the loafers of Sal- 
Tiac congregate. Everybody must have seen you.'’^ 

I noticed no one but a tall, old man, with a gray mus- 
tache. We very nearly run over him as we passed, but he 
did not swear, he only stared at me.-^^ 

It must have been the Count de Sigoules — a political 
enemy. This is the last straw. 

So you have political enemies, my poor friend, said 
Coralie, repressing a strong desire to laugh. 

Oh, you are just the same!^^ retorted Vignory, angrily. 

It is strange that you never can regard anything seri- 
ously. Just because you have seen me indulge in a few 
■escapades, you think I am a mere good-for-nothing. You 
are very much mistaken. I have managed admirably in an 
urrondissement, disturbed by an insurrection, and among a 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


53 


set of detestable people. I have maneuvered very cleverly, 
jiave made myself quite pojiular, and was in a fair way to 
secure a much more desirable appointment; but there is 
no use to think of that now. 

Why? Merely because I have come down to see you?'" 

^^Of course." 

‘a wish I had known it. I had rather go back to Paris 
this evening than get you into trouble. " 

‘^^Your departure would do no good now. Everybody 
lias heard of your arrival by this time." 

^^What amitodo, then?" . * 

I'm sure I don't know. I am afraid there is nothing 
left for me but to pack my trunks, and make way for my 
successor. It is a pity, too, just as I thought I ’was in 
luck, at last. The rebels shot the commissioner-general 
last night, and I had a very narrow escape. I was stand- 
ing beside him when he was shot. I thought I was sure 
■of the .cross, at least." 

And if you don't get it, it will be my fault. Aurelie 
was right; I made a great mistake in coming here. 1 had 
much better have gone to Nice." 

Aurelie? W"ho is Aurelie?" 

True! I did not tell you. Why, just as my carriage 
was ascending the hill, I put my head out of the window, 
and who should I see but an old acquaintance. We knew 
each other when we were about twenty years old, and we 
made our dehut together, so to speak. She was a graduate 
of Saint Denis. I wasn't; but she was no richer than I 
was — not as well off, in fact, for she was giving piano les- 
sons at twenty sous an hour. But she was as pretty as a 
picture, and as sharp as a steel-trap; so she very soon got 
out of her difficulties, and finally succeeded in securing a 
position as governess in a wealthy family, where she made 
the acquaintance of an old general who took a great fancy 
to her, gave her a lot of money, and finally married her to 
a protege of his. " 

All this is very interesting," said Vignory, impatiently, 
^^but how does she happen to be in Salviac?" 

She accompanied her husband who holds an office 
here. You must know him, as all the public function- 
aries are under your charge. " 

What is his name?" 


'54 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


I have forgotten. I never knew^ and I quite forgot to 
ask Aurelie to-day. 

^^Aurelie!"^ responded the sub-prefect;, who had a vague^ 
recollection of having heard the name before. 

Aurelie de Saint-Amour. Her father was of noble 
descent, but her husband can^t be much of an aristocrat. 

AVhat kind of a looking joerson is this old acquaintance 
of yours 

A tall blonde, with a beautiful figure, the hands of 
a duchess, and the feet of a child. 

And she is about your own age?^^ 

One year older. 

She has blue eyes, has she not?^^ 

Yes; beautiful eyes, full of expression. It is very evi- 
dent that you know her. 

^^Itis Madame Marteau. lam sure of it, now. Her 
husband is keeper of the prison. 

What a name and what an office! I am surprised that- 
Aurelie would consent to marry a jailer. 

The general probably required the sacrifice of heiv 
The general is the Marquis de Plancoet, is he not?^^ 

Exactly. And he has an income of six hundred thou- 
sand francs. C 

^^He was in command of a brigade in Paris at the time 
of the cou;p d^etaU He must be a very influential per- 
son. 

Did Madame Marteau recognize you when you met her 
on your way here?'’^ 

Yes, indeed. I stopped the carriage, and we chatted 
five minutes or more. It was she who warned me that you 
would not be particularly pleased to see me, and that I had 
made a great mistake in coming. I am sure she would be 
very Trilling to help me out of the scrape, if she could. I i 
asked her if she would consent to pass me off as her sister;, 
but she said that would be impossible, on account of her 
husband, who knew that she had no such relative. 

But he can not know all his wife^s relations, and if 
your friend would consent to introduce you as a distant 
cousin — 

That would do, I am sure. The only difficulty is that 
I can not go and ask her to do me this favor. She must 
live at the prison. 

Yes, and Marteau would receive you rather ungraciously 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


55 


if yon should venture to present yourself there. We must 
devise some way to speak to her in private; and that will 
be no easy matter. 

While they were talking, Coralie had made the tour of 
the apartment, and just at that moment she chanced to be 
standing by the Avindow, gazing out upon the rather gloomy 
surroundings of the sub-prefecture. 

Suddenly she pressed her face close to the pane and cried: 

Look, there she is now!^^ 

Who asked Yignory, thinking that she must have 
lost her senses. 

Aurelie, of course. Where did she come from? I left 
her on the street leading to the prefecture. 

Vignory hastened to the window, and saw Mme. Marteau 
^cending a little path that wound round the hill. 

She must have chosen the longest way,"" he remarked, 
^^for the prison is over there behind the court-house."" 

AVell, let us take advantage of the opportunity,"" said 
Coralie, putting up her hand to open the window, I Avill 
beckon to her."" 

No, no; the offices are on this side, and my clerks might 
see you. Besides, Madame Marteau is a very prudent 
woman. You would call in vain. She Avould not come up."" 

Oh, you see difficulties everywhere. What a delightful 
thing the position of sub-prefect is! One might as Avellbe 
in prison, if you can"t move or speak. You will miss 
Aurelie. So much the worse for you!"" 

No, I shall not miss her,"" replied Vignory. Can you 
remain here quietly for awhile, and not answer if any one 
should rap?"" 

You need have no fears. I haven"t the slightest de- 
sire to make the acquaintance of any of your subordinates. 
Besides, if it would be any relief to you, you can lock the 
door behind you. Are you going to try to overtake Au- 
relie?"" 

Yes, and I haven"t a moment to lose. I have a plan„ 
and if she is as quick-witted as I think she is, she will un- 
derstand the situation and help us out of tliis scrape, for no 
one else can."" 

Vignory rushed out of the room, locked the door, put 
the key in his pocket and flew down-stairs three steps at a 
time. 

In the vestibule, he met the coficierge who was still hold- 


56 


THE PKETTY JAILEE. 


ing Ooralie^s jewel-case and wraps in his hand, vainly ask- 
ing himself what he should do with them. 

In all the twenty years he had been employed at the 
prefecture, he had never been placed in such a dilemma 
before. 

Father Jean, said Vignory, speaking straight to the 
point, ^^you are anxious to keep your place, I suppose. 

I have no other means of support. Monsieur le Prefect, 
stammered the frightened man. 

Well, if you wish to keep your place, you must hold, 
your tongue. 

will be as silent as the grave, sir.^^ 

The person you just saw was sent here by the govern- 
ment. Do you understand 

Perfectly, sir — perfectly, said poor old Jean; not un- 
derstanding in the least, however. 

The lady is now in my cabinet, and no one must enter 
it until I return. If any one asks to see me, you must say 
that I am at work upon my report, and that I can receive 
no visitors to-day. 

^^I will not fail to do so, sir.^^ 

And whatever you may see, or hear, you are to have 
neither eyes nor ears. Interests of the gravest importance 
are at stake, and if you know how to keep silence, I prom- 
ise to recommend you to the minister, and to secure you a 
handsome reward.'’^ 

^^To the minister! Monsieur will mention me to the 
minister?'"’ 

Certainly, the humblest functionary is entitled to that 
when he serves the state faithfully, replied Vignory, ma- 
jestically. 

Eeturn to your lodge, and take those articles with you. 
You can hand them to me when I return. I shall not be 
gone long."’^ 

The street by which Ooralie had reached the prefecture 
intersected, further on, the path where she had seen Mme. 
Marteau — a path which encircled the prefecture grounds, 
and which the people of Salviac styled the Lovers^ Walk, 
because it was little frequented, and consequently well 
adapted to the interchange of tender confidences. 

Mme. Marteau had already passed the point where the 
two roads met, and in a few moments it would be imjDOSsi- 
ble to speak to her, but Vignory had nimble limbs, and he 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 


57 


made such good use of them that he overtook the lady in a 
curve of the path where a tall clum}! of shrubbery pro- 
tected them from curious eyes. 

Mme. Marteau, who had heard him approaching^ had 
turned and was now quietly waiting for him. It seemed, 
indeed, as if she had foreseen this meeting, and had pre- 
pared herself for it. 

Vignory accosted her politely, and though a little out of 
breath from his hurried walk, he lost no time in opening 
the conversation. 

Pardon me for running after you, madame,^^ he said, 
gayly. You jnust have thought I had found your hand- 
kerchief, and was bringing it to you. 

But I have not lost it,^"" was the smiling reply. 

and really, I feel almost certain that you can 
guess why I have taken this liberty. 

have a slight suspicion, but I should be greatly 
obliged to you if you would speak more plainly. 

A few moments ago you saw a post-chaise taking a 
lady to the prefecture, and being sure that you understand 
the situation, I feel certain that you are too kind-hearted 
not to deplore it. • 

I do, and so deeply that I strongly urged Coralie -to 
return to Paris without even alighting at the prefecture, 
a-nd I think she must already repent of her refusal to take 
my advice.'’^ 

Oh, yes,^^ was the quick response, ^^and while we were 
striving to find some way out of the difficulty, we both 
thought of you, who are as kind-hearted as you are beauti- 
ful. 

Thanks for the compliment, but what can I do? That 
mad-cap Coralie asked me to pass her off as my sister, but 
you must see that is impossible. 

Yoiir husband would not believe it, but could you not 
grant her your hospitality for a few days, in the character 
•of a distant relative — a cousin, say? She has told me of the 
niany pleasant days you spent together in years past, and 
it is on account of the old friendship that I make bold to 
ask this favor. 

Aurelie turned perceptibly paler, and for a moment said 
nothing; but after a little, she rejDlied impatiently, almost 
angrily; 

You must understand, sir, that what you ask is quite 


68 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


impracticable;., besides^ the remedy you propose wotild be^ 
worse than the disease. Coralie^s sojourn at my house 
would inevitably®give rise tp all sorts of comments. 

^^But recollect that this sojourn would be short — only a 
few days^ in fact. That will suffice for me to explain her 
visit to Salviac people, and to set myself right. Ooralie 
fully realizes the folly of which she has been guilty, and 
now only desires to beat a speedy retreat. Besides, she will ' 
find it so intolerably dull here, that she will be only toa 
glad to return to Paris. 

Then, why doesnT she leave this morning 

That wouldnT answer the same purpose. Everybody 
here would know that she came expressly to see me. 

But everybody already knows that she drove straight 
to the prefecture. 

But they will hear that she remained there only a few 
moments, and I have a plausible explanation for her visit. 

What, if you please 

I shall tell your husband, and give others to understand 
that she was sent here on a mission — a secret mission. It 
would not be the first time the government has employed 
women as agents. 

The idea of Ooralie charged with a political mission is 
really too absurd, said Mme. Marteau, laughing heartily, 
in spite of her annoyance. 

^^It is a capital joke, and for that very reason it seems 
to me you ought to be willing to aid us in it. If you will,, 
we can easily deceive everybody. 

Including my husband, I suppose?'’-' 

Of course, we can not take him into our confidence, 
but he shall not be a loser by it. ^ On the contrary, I will 
make such strenuous efforts to have his invaluable serv- 
ices properly appreciated that he will soon be promoted, 
and it will be to you that he will owe his advancement. "" 

But Ooralie will play her role of envoy extraordinary 
rather badly, I fear."^ 

On the contrary, she will play it admirably. I know heiv 
The idea of deceiving the natives will amuse her. She could 
not sustain the character long, but for three or four days 
there would be no difficulty whatever. I will give her a 
few instructions; besides, you will be on hand to watch her, 
and to prevent her from making any glaring blunder. 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 


59 


If you think all this will be an easy matter^, you are 
Tery much mistaken. 

Then you will deserve all the more credit^, madame, 
und will have all the stronger claim upon my gratitude. 

M^e. Marteau seemed to hesitate. 

^‘^But I assure you that I can not imagine how to effect 
the introduction to my husband/^ she said at last, with a 
slight laugh that was certainly forced. 

Is that all that troubles you? I will introduce her to 
him myself, if you only tell me under what name I must 

I have, somewhere in Nivernais, a distant cousin whom 
I have not seen for ten years, but of whom Pierre has fre- 
quently heard me speak. She is about my age, and is now 
residing, I believe, in Lyons, where she keeps a millinery 
.store. In personal appearance she is not unlike Coralie — 

That is the very thing. What is her name?^^ 

^^Marie Minotte.'’^ 

I have it. There have been troubles in Lyons. Ma- 
dame Marie Minotte has been of great service to the govern- 
ment in keeping us posted in regard to the movements of 
the rebels there, and the commissioner in that city, know- 
ing that she had a relation in Salviac, has sent her here to 
watch the disturbers of the public peace. The relative is 
Madame Marteau, wife of the chief jailer, who now has in 
his custody several prisoners of importance, and who, at 
my request, will certainly receive and entertain Marie 
Minotte until her mission is accomplished. 

"‘'All this is very plausible, and your husband, will be- 
lieve it/’ 

‘'"Yes, if you tell him yourself. He regards all that his 
I superiors tell him as gospel truth, and never criticises the 
orders he receives. Bui think of the responsibility you are 
taking upon yourself. What if Marteau should take it into 
his head to report the occurrence to the prefect ?^^ 

"" All the official reports pass through my hands, and he 
will not dare to write to him privately. 

"" I will do my best, then,^^ said Aurelie, though not 
without serious misgivings. 

""And’ I can never be sufficiently grateful to you for 
your kind offices. 

"" Save your thanks until by and by, for w'e must now; 
decide all the details of your plan. I will return home. 


60 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


and if I find my husband there I shall not say a word to* 
him about our meeting. As soon as Coralie is ready — and 
the sooner she is ready the better — you must bring her to 
the prison. When you come — if you take my advice— you 
will come by way of the public square in order that eveiy- 
body may see that you have nothing to conceal. 

^^That is exactly what I intended to do.'’^ 

^^You will then tell my husband the story we have 
agreed upon^, and at the same time introduce Mademoiselle 
Marie Minotte to him. You will not forget the name?^^ 

No^ certainly not, and I will take good care to impress^^ 
it upon Coralie^s memory. 

I will arrange not to be present at the moment of the 
introduction. My husband will send for me — my cousin 
will throw herself into my arms — I will press her to my 
heart. It will be a touching tableau. You can trust te 
me for the rest. Adieu, monsieur — no, au revoir !’’ con- 
cluded the jailer^s beautiful wife, walking off at a rapid 
pace. 

. Viguory made no attempt to detain her, but walked 
slowly back to the sub-prefecture, saying to himself: 

Saved! Thanks, Aurelie Marteau. If your dolt of a 
husband is not decorated, it will not be my fault, or yours. 


CHAPTEE III. 

Edmee CHA]srcELADE, after her brief interview with 
Mine. Marteau, walked straight to the prison, where the 
chief jailer received her more graciously than she had 
feared. He not only allowed her to leave the linen and 
some other necessaries, but promised to deliver them to his 
new prisoner, for Edmee, by her beauty and gentleness, 
could subdue the most savage heart. 

She even ventured to ask permission to see her brother, 
but the jailer informed her that Louis Chancelade was to 
be kept in solitary confinement, and not to be allowed to 
communicate with any one for the present. The orders on 
this point were explicit, and no one save the judge of in- 
struction had a right to countermand them. 

That official had returned from Bordeaux that morning, 
and was at that very moment engaged in examining the 
prisoner. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


61 


j Edmee made no complaint, but when she learned that 
her brother was at the Palace of Justice, she resolved to at 
least see him pass when he was taken back to prison, and 
so stationed herself in a sort of alley he would be obliged to^ 
traverse on his return. 

The cold was severe, and. she ran great risk of contract- 
ing inflammation of the lungs by thus exposing herself,, 
but death had no terrors for her. 

Her father was on his way to exile, and her brother 
seemed likely to end his days upon the guillotine, and 
Edmee, being thus left alone in the world, set but little 
value on her life. 

She had no hope of saving her father, who had been so 
speedily and cruelly punished for taking part in an insur- 
rection ; but her brother was not an insurgent, and the mur- 
der with which he was charged, was an offense that must be 
tried by a court of assizes, for the days of summary executions' 
were over. There was some chance of his acquittal, there- 
fore, and Edmee did not yet despair, though she counted 
little upon human justice at a time, and in a country, so 
racked with political passion and prejudice. 

She knew that the jDeople of Salviac would sympathize 
with her in her misfortune, and that nvcirkC sympathy 
would not be wanting for Louis, who had warm friends, 
among all classes, but mere sympathy would not save him,, 
and few persons would be mlling to compromise themselves 
by openly defending him. 

Even the Count de Sigoules, who had labored so zeal- 
ously to obtain a pardon for the father, was not likely to 
do as much for the son. The father was one of his ten- 
ants, and he felt obliged to do for him what his ancestors 
would have done for one of their vassals prior to the rev- 
olution of 1789. But he had little or no acquaintance with 
the son, who had not been reared upon the Sigoules estate,,, 
and whose political opinions were, of course, odious to the 
count. He tolerated them in the father, because he con- 
sidered him an ignorant old man; but he could not forgiye 
them in the son, who had enjoyed so much better oppor- 
tunities, and any influence he might possess would un- 
questionably be reserved for the benefit of his cousin, Adhe- 
mar de Mussidan. 

Still, he pitied Edmee, and took a real interest in her 
welfare, as he had just testified by his affectionate words. 


62 


PRETTY 'jailer. 

Eut he could do'^othing for the j)Oor girl^ so he drove 
hack* to the manor house^ heaping vain curses upon the 
authorities who were persecuting her. * . 

Consequently, Edmee had no assistance to hope for from 
any one, and must depend entirely upon herself. 

She had stood waiting nearly an hour, with chilled feet 
and a heavy heart, when she saw President Bourdeille and 
I)r. Thiviers approaching, arm in arm, on their way to the 
court-house. 

They were old friends, and she made no effort to avoid 
them. 

They recognized her while they were still some distance 
from her, and quickened their pace. 

What are you doing here, mademoiselle?^^ asked the 
physician, with the friendly abruptness common to old 
country doctors. It is cold enough to freeze a brass 
monkey. Are you trying to get sick again? I cured you 
nnce, but I wonT do it again, so you will just do me the 
favor to run home as fast as you can.-^^ 

am waiting for my brother, replied Edmee, shaking 
her head. 

Your brother! AVhat, are you expecting his release?'’" 

Oh, no; but he is in the court-house, and as soon as his ' 
examination is over, he will pass by here, and I shall see 
him. "" V 

You will be none the better off for that, nor he either,"" 
said M. Bourdeille. You had much better try to assist 
us in saving him."" 

^^How? . He is accused of an infamous crime, and you 
know that he is innocent as well as I do; but no matter 
how solemnly I assured his accusers of this — "" 

^‘'Assurances are worthless. You must furnish proof of 
the truth of your statements. I, too, believe, or want to 
believe, that the lad is not an assassin, but I don"t know 
what my verdict would be if I should be drawn as a juror."" 

What, sir, you, too, suspect him!"" exclaimed Edmee, 
sadly. 

' There are certainly sufficient grounds for suspicion, as 
you yourself must admit. Half an hour after the shooting 
of the commissioner, your brother is seen re-entering his 
liouse, at midnight, with his gun upon his shoulder."" 

The scoundrels who arrested him had set a trap for 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 6^’ 

him. They forced an entrance into our house like so many 
thieves. 

^^Mactemoiselle, pray do not speak so harshly. It does; 
no great harm before the doctor and myself, but others 
might place a bad interpretation upon your words. 
We should be glad, indeed, to feel fully convinced of 
your brother's innocence, and I have already said a word in 
his favor, though the case does not come under my juris- 
diction. I learned from the government attorney some- 
thing that grieves and alarms me, however. Your brother- 
obstinately refuses to give any account of the way in which 
his evening was spent, and his silence gives increased 
weight to the charges against him. He may have reasons 
that I am ignorant of for his silence, but if he persists in it 
he will certainly be convicted. 

But there is nothing to prevent you from speaking,, 
mademoiselle. You must expect to be examined. Indeed,. 
I am surprised that you have not been summoned before 
the judge of instruction before this. What shall you say* 
to him?" 

AVhat can I say to him? hTothing except that Louis is 
not guilty, and he will not believe me. " 

You, can tell him how your brother spent his evening; 
where he went on leaving town, and where he was coming 
from when he returned. " 

No, I can not," said Edmee, almost curtly. 

^^You must know, however." 

And why? My brother is not obliged to tell me where 
he is going whenever it pleases him to leave home.'. When 
he return^. I had no opportunity to question Those 

who were watching for him arrested him before ' he had a 
chance to open his lips; besides, I took good care not to 
question him in their presence. " ' ' 

It will be difficult to convince people that you are ig- 
norant of tha cause of his absence. But — pardon me for 
insisting— even if he did not confide his plans to you, you 
must have guessed them; you have been living with your 
brother ever since he lost his school. You know hi§ 
habits; you know his associates, and if an excess of delicacy 
. makes your brother preserve silence from a fear of com- 
promising some one, why shouldn't you tell me what you 
know of his unfortunate expedition of yesterday — and ta 
what cause you attribute it. I am a magistrate, it is true. 


64 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


but I have nothing to do with the investigation, and I feel 
R deep interest in you. Tell the friend what you would not 
tell the magistrate.'’^ • 

Edmee cast down her eyes and said nothing, but her face 
betrayed her emotion. The president had hit the nail 
upon the head, unquestionably, and satisfied on this point, 
be continued quickly: 

I will give you a hint. Suppose, for instance, that 
your brother went to the forest to confer with his political 
friends — or with fugitives who are hiding there. There are 
not a few of them lurking about in the neighborhood, I 
know — Ah, well, in that case, he could not tell the truth 
without betraying their secret, or indicating the spot where 
they have taken refuge, and he might, therefore, regard it 
as a point of honor not to betray them. But you, made- 
moiselle, are no conspirator, and consequently are under no 
obligation to maintain silence, especially when your brother's 
life is at stake. 

^ Even if your suppositions were correct, I should not save 
him by informing on the culprits. The authorities would 
treat him as they treated my father. It would be better 
for him to remain 'under the shadow of this absurd accusa- 
tion. No jury will convict him without conclusive evi- 
dence, and that they will not find.'’^ 

M. Bourdeille was surprised to find so much firmness and 
presence of mind in an inexperienced young girl who had 
never been out of the little town in which she first saw the 
light, and he was. considering how he could best influeiice 
her in the matter, for he felt that it was of the utmost im- 
portance that Louis Chancelade should establish an alibi, 
«|when thal*^oung man emerged from the court-house at- 
tended by two gendarmes. 

No humiliation had been spared him. His hands were 
bound; but he walked with an erect mien, and his mis- 
fortunes did not seem to have conquered his pride. 

Edmee sprung toward him, but M. Bourdeille interposed, 
for he knew the gendarmes would certainly prevent the 
^Door girl from holding any communication with the pris- 
oner, and he wished to spare her the rebuff. 

But they could not prevent Louis from making use of 
his powers of speech, and as he passed he called out to his 
sister : 

Thanks, Edmee! Go home, and donf worry about 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


65 


me. I am a prisoner; but they will not get my head, nor 
extorting any confession from me. 
ihe lane that separated the court-house from the 
prison was a short one. The gendarmes hurried Louis 
Ohancelade on, and the prison gates closed upon him be- 
fore Ins si^er, speechless with emotion, had time to utter a 
word of attection or encouragement. 

She stood as if petrified. The president and the doctor 
exchanged glances. They had heard the words of defiance 
uttered by the prisoner, and they were both thinking of 
the conclusion of the sentence. 

“ They will extort no confession from me,"’ Chancelade 
had cried. These words were addressed to Edmee, and 
“ I have revealed nothing. Follow my 

Consequently there was a secret between the brother and 
sister; but what secret? Was it in regard to establishing 
wiahii that they had mutually sworn to be silent; or was 
It, on the contrary, in relation to some proof of Chancel- 
ade s guilt? 

+T very difficult to say; and the gentlemen concluded 
further i^seless hut dangerous to insist 

Edmee was firmly resolved to say nothing; and even if 
an imprudent word should escape her, they preferred not 
to hear it. The doctor was attached to Edmee Chancelade, 
fu F ^ been very sorry to hear from her lips 

that her brother s innocence was very doubtful; and the 
piesident did not care to burden his conscience Avith rev- 
elations that his professional duty would not allow him to 
Keep to himself. 

^.rhese thoughts were passing through their minds Avhen 
hey saw a remarkably interesting couple appear at the end 
<)i the little street in which they were standing. 

, , { sub-prefect was coming toward them with a ladv 
atf ired in travelmg costume upon his arm— a lady upon 
horn the people of Salviac had never set eyes before 
A new face always attracts attention in a provinciaE 
toAvn, but the first official of the arrondissement escorting 
a strange lady through the street, and above all, according* 
her the support of his arm, was certainly a great event. 

ivl.. Vignory wore the grave and deferential air of a man 
Avho IS doing the honors of his town to a lady of distinc- 


THE PRETTY JAU.ER. 


tion. He had just crossed the square where the idlers of 
the place were wont to assemble, and his passage had 
created a sensation, for several of these loungers had as- 
cended the little hill in front of the court-house, and were 
now watching their sub-prefect with all their eyes, aston- 
ished to see him in such charming company. 

The president and the doctor were no less astonished, 
and vaguely wondered what it was best for them to do. 
Should they walk away, or await the approach of the pair? 
If they moved on it would look very much as if they were 
running away; but, on the other hand, if they remained, 
they must pre^^are for the inevitable meeting. Should they 
bow, or pretend not to recognize Vignory? In Paris, it is 
tlie rule with well-bred people to abstain from speaking, 
and to respect the incog7iito of a gentleman who is in com- 
pany with a strange lady; but in Salviac, and especially 
when the sub-prefect was the person in question, such a 
course would be a gross violation of the rules of politeness. 

Thoroughly independent, both by reason of his profes- 
sion and character. Dr. Thiviers was inclined to ignore his 
chief magistrate, but President Bourdeille hesitated to take 
such a decided step. 

Tlie presence of Edmee Ohancelade made the situation 
even more complicated, for M. Vignory could not fail to 
be astonished to see a prominent official like President Bour- 
deille in conversation with the sister of an acknowledged 
rebel, and the supposed murderer of the commissioner. 

The brave girl had not moved a muscle, but stood gazing 
with haughty indifference at-the approach of the sub-pre- 
fect who had arrested Louis. 

He seemed equally unembarrassed, and as he passed the 
little group, he extricated the gentlemen from their dilem- 
ma by bowing first, but without pausing. 

This was equivalent to saying: ^''I am engaged in the 
discharge of my official duties. I have no desire to hide, 
but out of respect for the lady I am escorting, I can not 
enter into a, conversation on the public street.'’^ 

At least, they so understood him, and they confined 
themselves to bowing; but their astonishment was un- 
bounded when they saw M. Vignory and his companion 
enter the prison. 

I can not understand it,^^ muttered M. Bourdeille, 


THE PEETTY JAILER, 


67 


^^Oan it be that our sub-prefect is taking the lady to 
prison 

I am of the opinion that they are going to pay 
Madame Marteau a visit/' replied M. Thiviers. She is a 
Parisienne, and this lady looks as if she might have come 
from the same city. They may be acquainted with each 
other, though I donT understand why the new-comer should 
go there under Monsieur Vignory^s protection. However, we 
shall know what to think before night, for I never yet heard 
of a mystery that our beloved fellow-citizens did not 
succeed in solving in less then twenty-four hours. 

In their excitement over the problem which had been so 
unexpectedly presented for their solution, the worthy 
gentleman quite forgot poor Edmee's presence. She re- 
minded them of it, however, by saying: 

You are the prison physician, my dear doctor, and I 
commend my unfortunate brother to your care. His is an 
extremely nervous temperament, and if he should fall 
ill— 


Ho not be alarmed, my dear child, I will care for him 
as if he were my son. He was remarkably well last even- 
ing, and a short sojourn in the prison can do him no harm. 
Quiet and seclusion are excellent sedatives, provided they 
do not last too long — and I am sure that Louis will soon 
succeed in proving his innocence — especially if you decide 
to aid him.'’^ 

Edmee saw that the importunities were about to be re- 
newed, and she did not wish to listen to them. 

Farewell, gentlemen she said, abruptly. 

Au revow, Mademoiselle,^^ replied President Bour- 
deille. 

But she was already out of hearing. 

At the foot of the hill she found a little group of idlers 
who had gathered there to watch for the return of the sub- 
prefect and the fair stranger. They were, for the most 
part, rather indifferent to Louis Chancelade^s misfortunes. 
Some even believed him guilty; nevertheless, when the 
sister of the accused passed, every head was instantly un- 
covered. 

All the residents of Salviac loved and respected Edmee. 
Her good works among them had been unceasing, and 
whatever her opinions might be, she never took any part 
in politics; so it was certainly no fault of hers that her 


68 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


father had rebelled against the new government, and that 
her brother had placed himself in a position to be suspected 
of the murder of a prominent official. 

She thanked her acquaintances for this token of sym- 
pathy with a grateful bow, but did not stop to speak to 
them. 

She did not wish to compromise any one, so she pursued 
her way with eyes downcast, in order to avoid seeing any 
friend who might be tempted to accost her in the street. 

To reach her home it was necessary for her to go the 
whole length of the town, and pass the cafe frequented by 
t]i^jeu7iesse doree of Salviac. The sons of influential fami- 
lies fraternized there with the government officials, but the 
petty tradesmen did not dare to venture within its sacred 
precincts. 

Martial Mouleydier happened to be enjoying himself 
there, and as he had not deprived himself of the pleasure 
of relating the part he had taken in Chancelade^s arrest, 
the friends of the government had treated him with un- 
usual consideration since the evening before. 

He chanced to be holding forth at the door of the estab- 
lishment, surrounded by a crowd of attentive auditors; and 
when he saw Edniee coming up the street, he was foolish 
enough to bow to her. 

The young girl replied by a scornful glance; and to bet- 
ter display the loathing with which her brother's betrayer 
inspired her, she drew the hood of her mantle down over 
her face, and passed him with averted head. 

The young man had his labor for his pains. 

Edmee met no other acquaintance before she reached the 
old house in which she had lived from her earliest infancy. 
Her mother had died there, her brother had just been ar- 
rested there; and though she was left forlorn and desolate, 
she had no intention of ever leaving it — not that she had 
made a vow to remain single like the Sisters of St. Vincent 
de Paul, but because she preferred to devote herself entirely 
to the poor, whose benefactress she was. 

She had refused to see any of her frieiids since her broth- 
er's arrest; she had even sent away her only servant, an old 
peasant woman, who had once been her nurse. She had 
sent her away because she was not sure of her fidelity, and 
she had decided not to hire any one in her place. 

She had resolved that no one should set foot in the house 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


69 

before her dear Louis, who perhaps would never enter it 
again. 

A good fire was blazing on the hearth in the sitting-room, 
and Edmee seated herself in front of it in an old arm-chair 
that had always been reserved for her father in the days 
when the old man was a happy and prosperous farmer, and 
sunk into a gloomy reverie. 

Every possible misfortune seemed to have befallen her at 
once; all her hopes had been blighted. A few faithful 
fiiends were still left her, but she could not hope for any 
real help from them. 

Dr. Thiviers was a good-natured skeptic who took every- 
thing philosophically, and who loved his ease above all 
things. President Bourdeille had a fine , mind and a good 
heart, but his official position prevented him from openly 
espousing the cause of a prisoner whom all the other magis- 
trates of the arrondissement believed guilty. 

As for the Count de Sigoules, he had business enough on 
hand to protect his own relative; besides, living in his 
isolated chateau, he was too far off to trouble himself much 
about Edmee. 

Somewhere in the neighborhood there was a particular 
friend of Louis Chancelade, a young man who was ever 
ready to spend and be spent in the service of the brother, 
as well as of the sister, whom he had loved for years; but 
he had excellent reasons for not showing himself now, as 
he, too, had been implicated in the December insurrection, 
and his interference would consequently do more harm than 
good. 

Moreover,-Edmeedid not know what had become of him, 
though she felt sure that he had not left the country. 

She even knew that Louis had seen him quite recently, 
and she suspected that they had been jointly planning some 
bold and dangerous undertaking. 

Louis, though he loved her devotedly, had not told her 
all, but on leaving her the evening before, he had disclosed 
the object of the nocturnal expedition he was about to 
undertake, and she had prayed ardently for the success of 
an enterprise she fully approved. 

The few words uttered by Louis at the moment of his 
arrest, told her that this undertaking had failed, and she 
was inconsolable at the failure; nevertheless, this misfort- 


70 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


une, deeply as it grieved her, wounded her much less than 
the terrible charge against her brother. 

She would willingly have given her life to save him; and 
the thought that she was only a woman, and unable to 
render him any assistance, irritated her terribly. 

Had she been a man, she would have attempted to force 
open the doors of the prison rather than leave Louis at 
the mercy of his enemies; and she would gladly have shared 
her father^s fate had she been able to head an armed move- 
ment against her brother's jailers. 

It was a senseless dream, perhaps; still, others might be 
able to carry it into execution. Sometimes a daring man 
can accomplish a well-nigh impossible task. 

She soon began to think that this man of action had 
been found in the shape of her brother's friend. 

His name was Jacques, and, after serving for some time 
as gamekeeper for M. de Sigoules, he had turned poacher, 
and for the past two years had spent most of his time in 
the forest, sleeping much oftener in the open air than in a 
bed. 

He was one of her brother's oldest and best friends, so 
Louis had not cast him off when he saw the young man re- 
lapse into an irregular life, and Edmee had had many op- 
portunities to appreciate his good qualities bv^f ore he turned 
vagabond. 

This singular youth had conceived an ardent passion for 
her, and made a great mistake in showing it too plainly, 
for, after treating him for years in a friendly manner, 
Edmee had of late felt compelled to keep him at a distance. 

Not that she disliked him; on the contrary, she was 
•really fond of him, for he was very unlike persons of his 
station in life, both in appearance and in mind. He had 
neither the clumsy stature and bearing of the peasants of 
the Dordogne, nor the assurance that characterizes the 
Perigourdins. He was much more like a native of Gas- 
cony, being tall, slender, and quick in his movements, with 
delicate features, and an expressive mobile face. He had 
the attributes and the faults of those D^’Artagnans who now 
exist only in the romances of the great Dumas — all their 
powers of repartee, their love of adventure, their invincible 
bravery, and also their spirit^ of independence, verging 
almost upon a contempt for airdilference of rank. 

Nor was this unnatural, as he might flatter himself that 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


71 


lie had noble blood in his veins^ for he had never known 
either his father or his mother. He had been found under 
a chestnut-tree, one fine morning, on the estate of the Count 
de Sigoules, who had intrusted him to the care of the gar- 
dener^’s wife. Afterward he had been sent to school, and 
to Sunday-school, where the eure^ noting his unusual in- 
telligence, took a great liking to him, and resolved to 
undertake his education, intending to afterward send him 
to college, where he certainly would have made his mark. 
But though he learned some Latin, and even a little Greek, 
with great ease, he ran away so often to rove about the 
fields, and proved himself to be such an erratic and undis- 
ciplined character that his benefactor was obliged to admit 
that his yroteye was absolutely unfit for an ecclesiastical 
career. 

Whereupon M. de Sigoules, in accordance with the ad- 
vice of his spiritual adviser, decided to make a game- 
keeper of the youth. Poachers were killing his game and 
stealing his vegetables. Jacques seemed quite capable of 
protecting his partridges and his potatoes, and he acquitted 
himself of his duties very creditably, until one day, when, in 
consequence of a quarrel with some neighbors, he left the 
count without the slightest notice, and went into the woods 
to lead the life of a hermit, like a man who had taken the 
life of some fellow-creature. 

Jacques had killed no one, but he was at war with every- 
body except the Chancelades. The old farmer always gave 
him a cordial welcome when he came to request a seat at 
his fireside, and his son, the school-teacher, liked to talk with 
him, for they generally agreed upon the great political and 
social questions they delighted to discuss. 

Edmee saw him less frequently, as she lived in town, 
where he rarely showed himself; still not a week passed in 
which she did not receive a bouquet of wild flowers or a 
brace of partridges, brought by some obliging peasant 
woman in the basket in which she brought her eggs to 
market. 

Edmee accepted these trifling gifts from her brother's 
friend without any scruples, sending him in exchange 
powder and shot, all the while deploring the fact that 
J acques was leading a life that must end badly. 

This friendly intercourse ceased entirely after the insur- 
rectionary movement excited by the coup d^ctat, for 


72 


THE PEETTY JAILER, 

Jacques, who had figured prominently among the insur- 
gents, was obliged to secrete himself. Louis Chancelade 
alone knew his hiding-place, and he had not confided the 
secret to his sister. 

But now that Louis had been arrested, what would she 
not have given to see Jacques again, the ingenious and in- 
trepid Jacques, who feared nothing, who recognized no ob- 
stacles, and who would certainly find a means of succoring 
his comrade. 

But Jacques was undoubtedly ignorant that Louis was 
in prison, and Edmee could devise no way of infoi’ining 
him. 

She recollected that occasionally, in months gone by, 
when Jacques had been afraid to sliow himself on account 
of certain depredations, he had ventured into a wood that 
crowned the heights on the other side of the Dronne, and 
displayed a signal from the top of a lofty beech- tree. This 
signal meant, ''^May I come to-night and was addressed 
to Louis, who, when he was in Salviac, replied by lighting 
a bonfire in his garden, the smoke of which warned J acques 
that his friend would be awaiting him on the river bank 
two hours after sundown. 

Only the evening before they had resorted to this kind of 
telegraphy, and had met at the appointed place. 

Edmee said to herself that Jacques w’^ould perhaps repeat 
his signal, and if she should see it, there would be nothing 
to prevent her from replying to it, and going to the ren- 
dezvous that evening in her brother's place. 

The windows of the room in which she was warming her- 
self, overlooked the street, and from them she could see noth- 
ing, so she went down into the garden which commanded a 
view of the valley, and which was directly opposite the 
wooded hill upon which the beech stood. 

It was a real hanging garden like those of all the houses 
on the east side of the village. The little wall that sur- 
rounded it overhung a precipice, and at one end of it, be- 
tween the Chancelade house and the house of i\\Q cure, was 
a rugged mass of rock that extended from the base of the 
clilf to a level with the top of the stone wall. 

But only a goat could have scaled this precipitous clilf. 

Edmee glanced at the opposite hill and perceived the 
tree, but ^e had the disappointment of seeing that the 


THE PKETTY JAILEK. 73 

iofty brandies did not bear the red rag that Jacques tied 
to it when he wished to announce his presence. 

Tliere was nothing floating in the breeze — nothing mov- 
ing on the snow-covered heights. The cold had suspended 
all out-of-door hfe, and immured the inhabitants of Salviac 
in their houses. Their gardens were deserted^, and the 
shutters closed. 

Disappointed in her hope, Edmee had about decided to 
return to the house, when a slight sound made her start — 
the sound made by the fall of a handful of tiny pebbles 
upon the path, almost at her very feet. 

Was this the work of some neighbor who was watching 
her? The temperature did not conduce to pleasantries of 
this kind; besides, the pebbles did not come from the ad- 
joining garden, but from the ledge upon which the wall 
was built. 

Was it not rather a warning? But from whom? From 
some friend who was unable to announce his presence in a 
less eccentric fashion? This seemed improbable, however; 
impossible, in fact; as impossible, indeed, as to reach the 
house by way of the precipice. 

Speedily recovering from her silly fright, Edmee promptly 
resolved to solve the mystery before quitting the spot. 

Approaching the wail, and leaning over it, she, to her 
profound astonishment, beheld Jacques perched, like a 
chamois, on a point of rock scarcely large enough for his 
two feet to rest upon, and clinging with one hand to a pro- 
jecting stone. 

How had he managed to climb the almost perpendicular 
side of the clilf, and what could have been his object? Did 
he hope to gain an entrance into the garden, or had he 
taken refuge upon this crag to escape pursuers who had 
followed him to the base of the clifl? 

These suppositions flitted through Edmee^s mind in an 
instant, and she could not repress an exclamation of wonder. 

Jacques, hearing it, glanced up, and motioned her away. 

She fancied he was afraid some one might see them to- 
gether; and they were, indeed, plainly visible from the win- 
dows of the neighboring houses. But what did it matter 
Whether she was there or not, if he was going to attempt 
the ascent? She obeyed, however, and slowly retreated 
toward the house-door, which she had left open behind her. 

A moment afterward she saw the pointed crown of. 


-74 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 


Jacques^ felt hat appear above the wall — a felt hat that 
gave him rather the air of a brigand; then his hands cling- 
ing to the top of the wall; then his shoulders, enveloped in 
a green and black plaid; then his sturdy legs, incased in 
heavy gray linen knee-breeches. 

By what miracle of agility had he accomplished the 
ascent? It seemed incredible. 

At last he leaped lightly over the barrier, and a few hur- 
ried steps brought him to the open door-way where Edmee 
was standing, pale with emotion. * 

^ Come on, quick,"' she said, making way for him. 

She was not obliged to repeat the invitation, and as soon 
as he had entered the house, she made haste to lock and 
bolt the outer door. 

She secured the street-door in the same way, and then 
returned to Jacques who was waiting for her, bareheaded, 
with a little bouquet of wild roses in his hand. 

Take them," said he. I culled them for you under 
the very eyes of the gendarmes 

^^The gendarmes I they are following you?" she cried. 

They were after me all last night, but they were on 
horseback, and I led them through paths where they found 
it pretty hard traveling. But you scorn my poor flowers, 
it seems." 

She took them so as not to wound him, but she had no 
heart to thank him. 

Why do you come to Salviac in broad daylight?" she 
asked. It is rushing into mortal peril, surely." 

It was not sunrise when I reached here. I took the 
short cut, as you see. It was settled between Louis and 
me before we separated. He promised me that if he 
reached Salviac before I did, he would wait for me in the 
garden. But it was I who had to wait for him. I have 
been here ever since seven o'clock this morning, and it is 
not a warm day by any means. I dared not leave my 
perch, however, because I feared some misfortune had hap- 
pened, and that the house was in the possession of gen- 
darmes, When I heard you walking on the gravel, I 
thought it was Louis, and so ventured to wpn him of my 
presence. I was mistaken, but I am glad it proved to be 
you. It is so long since I saw you." 

^^I, too, am glad to see you, Jacques." 


THE PRETTY JAILER, 75 

One would not think so. How sad you look! Has 
some misfortune befallen you?^^ 

""^Yes, Jacques, the greatest of all misfortunes. Louis 
has been arrested, and is now in prison; 

I suspected as much. Since when 

^^They arrested him the very moment of his return 
home.^^ 

Some one must have denounced him. 

Yes, a scoundrel whose name I will tell you presently. 
But we must not remain here. I am afraid of eavesdrop- 
jiers; besides, you are perishing with cold.^^ ^ 

Come upstairs with me. There is a fire in the sitting- 
room.’’^ 

Jacques followed her, and approached the hearth with 
very evident satisfaction. 

In fact, he must have been made of iron to have so long 
endured his exposure to the stinging winds on the cliff, 
with the thermometer only about twenty degrees above zero. 

Tell me what occurred last night on the road to Peri- 
gueux,^^ said Edmee, just as he was about to question her in 
regard to the particulars of Chancelade^s arrest. 

^^What! didn^t Louis tell you of our unfortunate ad- 
ventures?^^ 

He had not time. He was seized at the door before 
we had an opportunity to exchange a word, but I knew by 
his manner that the attempt had proved a failure. He 
could only make a sign to me to say nothing to those who 
might question me. 

The warning was unnecessary. I am surprised that 
he who knew you so well — 

How did the undertaking happen to fail?^^ interrupted 
Edmee. • Did your friends fail you?^^ 

Yes. You know that we intended to attack the escort 
that was to conduct your father to Perigueux, in a strip of 
woods near the intersection of the road leading to Cham- 
2)agnac. We expected that the carriage and the gendarmes. 
would reach that point about nine o^clock. I notified six 
young men, who have been fugitives like myself for the 
past month. Of the six three had guns; the gendarmes 
numbered only five, so it seemed likely to be plain sailing. 
How many of our friends do you suppose there were upon 
the ground ?^^ 

Perhaps three. 


76 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


Two^ mademoiselle. Your brother and myself. The 
others were afraid to come^, the cowards 
So you let the carriage pass?'’^ 

^^ISTo, unfortunately. Louis was furious^ and so was L 
The others did not make their appearance, and we could 
already hear the carriage approaching in the distance, so I 
proposed that we two should make the attempt unaided/'" 
That was folly. 

‘^^Bah! Who risks nothing, gains nothing. W^e had 
four shots to fire> and we had considerable advantage in 
position, as we had climbed a bank on the side of the road. 
1 said to myself, "At the first shot the convoy will stop, 
then 1 will make a deuce of a noise, and shout, Pierre, 
Jean, Guillaume, to the rescue! The gendarmes will think 
there-aiE_at least a dozen of us, and will probably start to 
run away. If they prepare to charge upon us, I will call 
out stiirmore loudly, and they will rush upon me. In the 
meantime Louis can attack the driver, who can not defend 
liimself, being unarmed, and Louis can drag his father out 
of the carriage and into the wood. Once there, he will be 
safe.^^" 

"" Well, what took place 

"" It happened that we had to deal with a commandei 
who did not lose his senses—an old officer who had served 
in Africa, and who was accustomed to surprises. Louis 
fired first; and I am quite sure that he fired hi the air. 
You know his ridiculous ideas on this subject. He pre- 
tends that one has no right to kill even an enemy, except 
in self-defense. 

"" At all events he liit no one. 

""Thereupon, the officer in command gave a hasty order 
to the driver and his men. Two of these last started off on 
a gallop, one on each side of the carriage, which was driven 
away in the most furious manner. The three remaining 
guards retaliated by opening fire upon us with their pistols. 
I fired in my turn, and am almost certain that I wounded 
one man. Louis fired a second time. Then they all three 
turned upon me, very fortunately. I darted into the for- 
est; they pursued me for about five minutes, and then gave 
it up. The undergrowth was too dense; besides, they 
could not see their hands before them, so they soon ^started 
back to overtake the carriage, Avhicli was ali^eady some dis- 
tance off. 


THE PTiETTY JAILER. 


i i 

Our attempt was a failure. I did not know where Louis 
was, but I supposed he had returned to Salviac by a short 
cut across the fields. We had agreed, in case of failure, 
that each of us should make his escape as best he could, 
and that I should come here a little before sunrise. I had 
plenty of time at my disposal, so I returned to the forest of 
Valade, where I had been hiding for more than a week. 
There I buried my gun under the pile of leaves that serves 
me for a bed, took a good nap, and started down the river- 
bank for Salviac about five o^’clock this morning. 

You know, now, why my brother failed to^keephis ap- 
pointment.-^^ 

^^Yes, but I donT understand how the gendarmes got 
here Just in time to arrest him. Did they know that Louis 
intended to attack the escort last evening 

That is not the crime of which he is accused. The 
commissioner who was sent here from Paris, was shot at the 
window of the club-house last night, about half an hour 
before my brother's return, and they were lying in wait for 
Louis at the door when he came back.'’^ 

And they dare to say that it was he who assassinated 
the man! for it was an assassination! Ah, well, I will 
convince them of your brothers innocence. I will go and 
surrender myself, and will tell them that Louis was with 
me, last night, on the road to Perigueux.^^ 

Surrender yourself cried Edmee. It would do no 
good! You would only ruin yourself,, without saving him. 
On the contrary, you would only aggravate his danger, as 
another crime would be imputed to him. 

A political crime, replied Jacques, promptly, ^^and 
certainly a very excusable one, as he was striving to rescue 
his own father. Indeed, I am surprised that Louis did 
not reveal the truth rather than remain under the shadow 
of such a charge. 

He could not disclose the truth without injuring you. 
No one would believe that he went alone, to lie in wait for 
the ge^tdarmes, on the public highway. They would know 
that he had accomplices, and you would be the first person 
suspected, for they know that you are his most intimate 
friend. You have already been denounced as a participant 
in the December insurrection. The country would be 
scoured until you w^ere found, and you would share my 
brothers fate. This must not be. One victim is enough. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


78 

'‘i>at the fact that the gendarmes attacked last 
night must be known in Salviac by this time/^ 

I do not think so, and even if it were, I feel sure that 
my brother would deny all knowledge of the affair, if 
questioned. He as much as told me so. But they will 
not question him in regard to the attack. They would 
much rather accuse him of an atrocious crime. It would 
not satisfy them to bring about his conviction; they must 
needs bring disgrace upon him as well.^^ 

Ah, well, they will not succeed in doing that. I shall 
go and tell them what occurred. Louis could not be three 
miles from Salviac and under the windows of the club- 
house at the same time.''^ 

^‘^ You forget. You attacked the gendarmes at nine 
o^clock, and the commissioner was not killed until eleven. 
A rapid walker could easily have returned to the town 
within the time mentioned, and you know that Louis is a 
wonderful pedestrian.''^ 

Yes, that is true. He can beat me, and I am not a 
bad walker, by any means. 

‘^^You must see, then, that if you should go and give 
yourself up, both of you would certainly be accused of the 
assassination of the commissioner. They would say that 
while enraged at your failure to rescue the prisoner, you had 
met, on your return to Salviac, the commissioner, on his 
way to the club-house, and that the idea of killing him oc- 
curred to you to compensate for your failure to kill the 
gendarmes. 

^‘1 will not allow you to thus sacrifice yourself. Ee- 
member that you are the only friend I have left now. 

Then you at last believe that I love you exclaimed 
tlacques, eagerly. 

I believe that you love me as if I were your sister, re- 
adied Edmee, withdrawing the hand of which Jacques had 
endeavored to secure possession. I certainly love you as if 
you were my brother, though I greatly disapprove of the 
life you have been leading for the past two years; I hope 
that you will abandon it some day and- become a soldier.'^ 

I am quite willing to do that when we have a republic, 
but until we have, I shall not lay down my arms. I am go- 
ing to begin by trying to save Louis. 

^^You forget that this will be sometlnng more than a 
matter of overpowering an armed escort. Louis is kept in 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


79 


solitary confinement in a closely guarded prison, and no one 
can hold any communication with him. They have even 
refused me permission to see him/^ 

shall dispense with their permission. 

Do you hope to scale the walls and burst open the door 
of the cell in which he is confined 

do not know what means I shall adopt, but I swear 
that I will reach him in some way or other. The attempt 
may cost me my life, but what does that matter! I feel 
sure that you will sometimes think of me after I have died 
to serve you.’’ 

I often think of you now, Jacques.'’^ 

Are you speaking the truth, mademoiselle?^^ 

Yes, I assure you; and if you do not wish to give me 
pain do not risk your life unnecessarily. Besides, Louis 
will not remain in this prison long. His persecutors will 
not leave him so near me and the few remaining friends he 
has in Salviac. They will send him to Perigueux, where he 
will be tried by jury; and I have reason to be thankful for 
that, for if he were tried before a commission he would be 
convicted in advance, and the penalty would be death. 

And if he should be sent into exile?"'’ 
shall follow him everywhere, even to the foot of the 
scalfold; and if they should transport him I shall join him, 
as I should have joined my father, had my brother re- 
mained in France."" 

"" And I, too, shall follow him to Cayenne, if he is sent 
there; and I will manage^to effect his escape. I promise 
you that 1 will restore him to you, mademoiselle, or perish 
with him. But whatever you may say, I shall first try to get 
him safely out of this prison."" 

“ You can not spend a day in Salviac without being 
arrested. "" 

can conceal myself."" 

"‘'Here — in this house? You make a great mistake. 1 
am not safe from arrest myself. The first time the house 
was searched you would be captured, and what would peo- 
ple say if you should be found here?"" 

"" Heaven forbid that I should make you the victim of 
scandal-mongers, mademoiselle. I shall leave the forest of 
Valade, and move my headquarters to the hills on the other 
side of the Dronne, from which I can easily come at night 
to examine the surroundings of the prison, until I can dis- 


80 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


cover a way to gain an entrance into it, which will proba- ' 
bly be by way of the roof, for climbing is my specialty, 
you know/^ 

Edmee shook her head despondingly. 

Listen to me, Jacques,^'’ she said, sadly. I have no 
right to give you any orders, but I beg you not to endanger 
your life. What would become of me if I should lose you 
now?^^ 

The outlaw turned pale with emotion, and said, in a 
"voice that trembled very perceptibly: 

^^You would marry, mademoiselle. There will be 
plenty of worthy men who will be glad to marry you. I 
should die of grief, if I were still alive, but I should not 
complain, for I know that I am not worthy of you. Ah! 
if I could only save your brother, and afterward return to 
the right path — 

I forgot that you had ever strayed from it,^^ replied 
the girl, deeply moved by this artless confession. But I 
entreat you, Jacques, to cease dreaming of the impossible, 
and reflect upon the dangers that threaten us all. You 
would ruin Louis by interfering in his behalf. Think of 
your own safety. Leave this part of the country — leave 
France, enter a foreign army, seek to retrieve your errors, 
and by and by, when these political dissensions are at an end, 
return to Salviac. Y^ou will find me the same — my feel- 
ings will have undergone no change. 

Then you allow me to hope!^^ cried Jacques, eagerly. 

l ie was about to throw himself at Edmee^s feet with a 
grace the best of actors might well have envied, this sav- 
age, whose life had been spent in the forest, for it is in- 
stinct that governs the movements of an impassioned lover, 
after all — but Edmee prevented it. 

Think of Louis, she said, gazing at him with eyes 
glistening with tears. I am going to speak to you as he 
would speak, if he were here.^^ 

He would say: ^Jacques, my friend, my brother, you 
have not deserted me in the hour of adversity — brighter 
days will perhaps dawn, when our persecuted and scattered 
family will once more gather around our now desolate fire- 
side, and then you will be welcome, if you still desire to 
become one of our household. But that time has not yet 
come. Do not cherish hopes that will deprive 3^011 of your 
energy. Think of the struggle i]i whi(‘h we n.re eTigaged — 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


81 


oe firm, for your own sake, as well as for that of Edmee. 
But struggle for yourself alone. IS^o more foolhardy at- 
tempts! no more generous folly! Save yourself, for the 
day of triumph which must surely come for the cause we 
3erve; and do not trouble yourself about me^ for I shall be 
able to defend myself. ^ 

So be it,^^ said Jacques, lifting his head proudly, like 
a soldier whose heart has just been fired by the stirring 
words of his general. Your will shall be obeyed, made- 
moiselle. Louis Chancelade shall have no cause to re- 
proach me, when we meet again; and in the meantime, i 
swear you shall never again liear me speak of my love 
until I have proved myself worthy of it. 

Forgive me for having so unceremoniously intruded 
here. I would leave the house instantly, if that were possi- 
ble; but in broad daylight, I could not go a hundred yards 
from the house without being recognized. You wTJuld be 
suspected of harboring Rie, and you would be sure to suf- 
fer for it. 

Allow me, therefore, to remain here until night. That 
will not be long now, for at this season of the year it is 
dark very early. 

"‘'Allow you to remain here!"" repeated the young girl. 
""Gan you suppose that I wish you any evil, or that I have 
not sufficient confidence in you to spend a few hours with 
you.^ T should be glad to have you stay here always. You 
would be much more comfortable here*' than in the forest; 
but I have every reason to fear our enemies, and if they 
should take it into their heads to search the house they 
would be sure to find you. "" 

"" IS^o; for at the first suspicious sound 1 should take 
refuge on my mountain crag. But it would be better not 
to run the risk, so I will try to find a corner in your garret 
wffiere I can sleep until nightfall. 

If I might venture to give you a word of advice,"" he 
continued, "" it would be to go out and show yourself about 
the town. Seeing you on the street, no one will be likely 
to suspect that any one is hiding at your home."" 

""I have already been out once to-day. I had just re- 
turned when I went into the garden. But no matter. I 
have a sick person to visit — a poor woman whose husband 
has been arrested, and who is dying of consumption. She 
lives near the church, and I will take advantage of the 


82 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


opportunity to ascertain if people are talking about your 
attack upon the gendarmes. Y ou, my friend, had better 
go upstairs and rest, and if I am late in returning home do 
not wait for me. 

I shall not go without bidding you good-bye. Who 
knows when we may meet again? — never, perhaps, mur- 
mured Jacques, sadly. 

'‘'What an idea!'" said the young girl, though she was 
almost as deeply agitated as her lover. 

She might perhaps have said more than she intended, 
had not a loud knocking at the street door resounded 
through the house. 

Jacques started violently, and sprung toward the window, 
in order to see who had rapped. 

The first impulse of this brave youth was always to rush 
into i^eril; but Edmee, realizing the danger of his showing 
himself at the window, when there might be enemies or 
even gendarmes in the street, seized him by the arm, and 
said, hurriedly: 

"Quick! — conceal yourself! I will open the door. If 
you hear several voices, fiy!" 

A second knock, even louder than the first, resounded, 
and the young girl hastened down-stairs, while Jacques beat 
a retreat to the attic. 

She had advised him to fiee, but she had neglected to in- 
dicate the way he must take in order to avoid passing 
through the hall that divided the house. 

After satisfying herself by a glance that J acques was not 
behind her, Edmee drew the bolt, and found herself in the 
presence of a gentleman, whose face was so closely miiflled 
that she did not at first recognize him, though his manner 
was friendly. 

" Mademoiselle," he said, unfastening the large handker- 
chief that concealed the lower part of his face, "excuse 
me for disturbing you, but it is necessary that I should 
have a talk with you, and the street is a poor place for con- 
versation this cold weather." 

Edmee recognized in her visitor M. Braconne, the dean 
of the Salviac bar. 

She had no reason to distrust him for he was a most 
w^orthy man, and highly esteemed by his fellow-citizens, 
including Louis Chancelade, who believed him to be at 
heart a republican. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


m 


To tell the truths no one knew the real political senti- 
ments of this legal luminary^ but no one doubted his hon- 
esty or his talent, and he had always been extremely kind 
to the Chancelade family. 

At the time of the father^s arrest he had offered to de- 
fend him, and it required no little courage to offer one^s 
self as the champion of a rebel so soon after an insurrec- 
tion. It had been impossible for Chancelade to avail him- 
self of the offer, owing to the fact that his trial had not 
been conducted in the usual way; but M. Braconne had in- 
terested himself in him, and in his children, and had 
shown them marks of sympathy for which Edmee was 
deeply grateful. 

Nevertheless, she hesitated to admit him to the house as 
Jacques was still there, and the girl did not feel sufficient 
confidence in her neighbor to be willing to tell him all her 
secrets. 

Nor is it necessary for passers-by to see us talking upon 
your doorstep,"^ continued M. Braconne. am not dis- 
posed to do anything on the sly, but a spirit of evil seems 
to be rife in our town, and — 

Come in, sir,'’^ interrupted Edmee. 

M. Braconne lost no time in availing himself of this per- 
mission, and Edmee was obliged to take him up into the 
sitting-room where there was a fire, for she could not de- 
cently entertain him in the cold hall. 

The leader of the Salviac bar was not much over forty 
years of age, and was still quite a fine-looking man, though 
rather inclined to stoutness. He had pursued his law 
studies in Paris before taking up his abode in Perigord, 
where he owned considerable property, and he remained at 
least a partial Parisian in his tastes and feelings. 

He had made a wealthy marriage, but was now a widower. 
He had no children, and resided alone in the house next 
the Chancelades, where he worked hard at his profession, 
his only diversion being an evening game of whist at the 
club. 

Mademoiselle,^^ he began, seating himself in an arm- 
chair, I am come to tell you that I will gladly defend 
your brother in his approaching trial, for I am now satisfied 
that he is innocent of the crime imputed to him. 

You are now satisfied of his mnocence,^^ repeated Eck' 


u 


THE PRETTY JAII.ER. 


nice, iioiTOwfully. ^^Then you must have believed him 
guilty at first/^ 

No, not at first. I was present when the commissioner 
was killed, and certainly did not think that the shot was 
fired by your brother. This morning I received informa- 
tion that caused me to change my mind; but since that 
time I have changed it again. But my opinion will un- 
dergo no further change. I am firmly convinced that he 
is not the culprit. I am positive of it, in fact. 

May I ask what has caused this change in your opin- 
ion 

I have learned several things I was ignorant of before. 
The gendarmes guarding the carriage t&t was conveying 
your father to Perigueux were attacked last night. Were 
you aware of the fact?^^ 

I just heard so. But what of it?^^ asked Edmee, who 
was anxious to have the lawyer make the first advances. 

^‘1 have no desire to pry into your secrets, mademoiselle,^^ 
replied M. Braconne; even advise you to keep them to 
yourself, if you have any; but I thought it best to tell you 
upon what my conviction of your brother's innocence was 
based. You understand me, do you not?^^ 

Edmee cast down her eyes and said nothing. 

I should hasten to add that I do not propose to prove 
an continued the lawyer, though I might do so 

without the slightest difficulty. I shall only give the jurors 
to understand that Louis was probably one of the party 
that assailed the escort, but I shall take good care not to 
insist that such was the case. That would be a great mis- 
take, for the prosecution would not fail to reply that one 
crime does not prevent another, especially as they were not 
committed at the same time. 

It is even important that ill-advised friends should not 
endeavor to clear Louis of the crime of murder by spread- 
ing a report that he took part in the attack upon the es- 
cort, or, what would be still worse, by proving that he was 
there. 

No one will do that,^ replied Edmee in decided tones. 

Your word is sufficient mademoiselle; and now there 
is nothing left for me to say but to tell you how I intend to 
defend your brother. 

can well trust that to your talent and your kind 
heart, sir. You have always been a friend to our family; 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


85 


you have known us a long time, and you know that Louis 
IS incapable of a cowardly attack upon an enemy. 

That is exactly what I shall say to the jury, and I am 
sure I shall convince them. But I shall also make use of 
an argument which I consider irrefutable. Your brother 
was arrested while in possession of a gun, both barrels of 
which had been recently fired. Now, but one shot was 
fired at the commissioner. Nor is this all. A post-mortem 
examination was made this morning, and the ball that 
killed the commissioner is not an ordinary musket-ball. It 
was extracted from the breast of the dead man, and the 
authorities are keeping it as an article of conviction. It is 
evident that it was not fired from Louis Chancelade^s gun, 
for it is of such large caliber that it could not have entered 
his gun. It was Doctor Thiviers who apprised me of these 
facts. In the presence of such incontestable proofs as this 
they can not convict him, and I can vouch for his ac- 
quittal. 

Oh, sir, if you will restore my brother to me, I can 
never do enough to prove my gratitude. 

I shall consider myself only too fortunate if I can be of 
service to you,^^ said M. Braconne, giving Edmee a look 
that troubled her a little. 

She intuitively felt that he liked her better than she 
wished, and that this middle-aged widower had certain 
views in regard to her. 

I will vouch for his acquittal, he resumed, ^^but only 
upon one condition — that my system of defense is not in- 
terfered with, and the slightest indiscretion or imprudence 
would ruin it completely. For instance, if one of the party 
who attacked the escort the other night, impelled by a sen- 
timent of mistaken generosity, should surrender himself, 
and say that your brother was with him, all would be lost; 
for your brother, instead of being tried before the court of 
assizes, would be sent before a commission that would treat 
him as it treated your father. He would be shipped for 
Cayenne, and you would never see him again. 

^‘^That shall not happen, I promise you.^^ 

The result would be the same if any attempt should be 
made to insure his escape from the prison in which he is 
confined. It would not prove successful, and the effect 
would be to bring about his immediate transfer to some 
other prison. By the way, I shall need to hold frequent 


8 (] 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


consultations with him, and to-morrow I will see the judge 
of instruction who will give me the desired permission, I 
do not doubt/^ 

If you see Louis you must tell him you have seen me, 
and assure him that he can depend upon me, whatever may 
happen/^ 

I promise you that, mademoiselle, and I will now bid 
you good-bye until the day when I shall have some good 
news to bring to you/^ 

M. Braconne rose, shook hands with Edmee, and turned 
to go. 

His fair hostess accompanied him to the door. As he 
left her, he remarked, meaningly: 

No imprudence, remember. 

She understood, and returned to the sitting-room, con- 
vinced that her benevolent neighbor had seen Jacques scal- 
ing the garden wall, and that he understood the situation 
perfectly. 

Kesolved to lose no time in acquainting her rather hare- 
brained lover with the advice of her more prudent neigh- 
bor, Edmee hastened up to the garret in search of him, but 
all her efforts to find him proved fruitless. 

He had probably departed by the same dangerous way 
that he had come, and Louis^ fate was at the mercy of a 
friend who was utterly devoid of prudence. 


CHAPTEE IV. 

Everything had passed off smoothly at the prison, and 
the plan agreed upon between the sub-prefect and the jailer^s 
beautiful wife had been carried out in every particular. 

Coralie played her part to perfection, and enjoyed it 
hugely, taking no little delight in thus deceiving a rather 
exacting husband. 

Pierre Marteau had been greatly surprised when M. 
Vignory appeared with his fair companion, and gravely 
explained that this young and remarkably attractive lady 
was not only his wife^s cousin, but also a government 
emissary, charged with a secret mission. 

Accustomed to passive obedience, he did not think of 
doubting the word of his superior officer, but he did venture 
to express his astonishment at not having been informed of 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


87 


tlie intended arrival of this relative by marriage, though 
any doubts he may have felt in regard to the truth of the 
relationship were dispelled when he saw his wife throw her- 
self into the arms of the new-comer, and call her, ^"My 
dear Marie 

The meeting was quite touching, and after a few words 
of explanation to Mme. Marteau, Vignory took his leave, 
congratulating the husband on being thus called upon to 
further the interests of the government, and departed well 
satisfied that the tact and shrewdness of the beautiful 
Aurelie would accomplish the rest. 

He was right, for Mme. Marteau knew how to cajole her 
rather austere husband, and so thoroughly propitiated him 
in this instance, that he even offered to give up his own 
room to their visitor. 

The two ladies would not consent to this arrangement, 
however, but decided that a bed should be placed in a 
dressing-room that adjoined Aurelie^s chamber. 

When Marteau was called from them, by his duties, his 
wife lost no time in entering upon the necessary explanation 
with her friend. She began by reminding Coralie that 
they were both playing a very dangerous game, and one 
that must not be unduly prolonged. She had consented to 
take a hand in it to oblige Vignory, but would not go to 
the extent of seriously compromising her husband. 

Coralie replied that she was not anxious to remain long 
in Salviac, nor to make the acquaintance of any of the 
natives. She would much rather spend her time in talk- 
ing about by-gone days with her friend, and promised to 
be guided entirely by her advice. 

Somewhat reassured by the declaration, Mme. Marteau 
resolved to take advantage of her old friend^s presence to 
enjoy herself a little. Since her arrival in Salviac, she had 
never had an opportunity to talk freely, and she j)ositively 
longed to unburden her heart to some one. Kot that 
she had implicit confidence in Coralie, but she counted, 
and with reason, upon the sort of freemasonry that exists 
between women, especially when there is anything con- 
nected with their past or present that they desire to conceal. 

Mme. Marteau soon proposed a walk on the esplanade 
that overlooks the valley of the Dronne, and they went to- 
gether to admire the beautiful view from the vicinity of 
the club-house. This afforded the fair cicerone an oppor- 


88 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


timity to inform her companion of the tragedy of the even- 
ing before, and‘Coralie, who was not a particularly enthu- 
siastic admirer of the beauties of nature, listened with great 
interest to the account, and on hearing that the supposed 
murderer was already in prison, she became seized with an 
intense desire to see him, especially when she learned that 
the criminal was a handsome young man. 

Mme. Marteau dampened her ardor by telling her that 
the interesting prisoner was kept in solitary confinement, 
and that no one was allowed to communicate with him, 
still Coraliedid not abandon all hope. 

Eeturning home after about an hour spent in walking 
about the little town, and ridiculing the inhabitants, who 
paused to stare at them as if they were monstrosities, they 
found that Pierre Marteau had been summoned by the 
judge of instruction who had some further orders to give 
him, and the ladies were at liberty to spend their time as 
they pleased. 

When their chapter of confidential revelations was con- 
cluded, Mme. Marteau seated herself at the piano, and 
struck up a lively air that gave Ooralie an intense desire to 
dance, and in her gambols around the room, she very nat- 
urally approached the window. 

She had no sooner done so, however, than she ceased her 
dancing, and returned to Mme. Marteau^s side. 

That is he, is it not?^^ she asked. 

^MVho is he?^^ inquired Aurelie, quietly. 

The handsome prisoner, of course, replied the pre- 
tended cousin. 

Aurelie, thinking her friend referred to the inmate of the 
cell opposite the room in which they were sitting, left the 
piano to run to the window. 

But it was not M. de Mussidan, Coralie Aras admiring. 
It was Louis Chancelade who was promenading the prison 
court-yard, under the surveillance of one of the keepers, 
and tranquilly smoking a cigar. 

He is superb murmured Coralie, gazing at him with 
enraptured eyes. There isnT a man in Paris to equal 

^‘^He is not a bad-looking fellow, I admit, responded 
Aurelie, ^^but he has got himself into a terrible scrape, 
and you will make a great mistake if you try to get up a. 
flirtation Avith him, A . goA^ernment agent flirting Avitli a 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


89 


prisoner accused of assassination — ^that would sound well, 
wouldn^t it? If my husband should find it out, you and I 
would both be in a nice fix. 

^^Bah! it won^t do any harm for me just to smile at 
him. 

And taking advantage of a moment when the keeper^s 
back was turned, and Chancelade happened to look up, 
Coralie gave him a laughing nod, to which he replied with 
a grateful bow, without pausing in his promenade. 

Are you mad?^^ cried Mme. Marteau, pulling her friend 
back from the window. You will ruin us all, your sub- 
prefect into the bargain. 

Well, you must have met with a change if. you think 
there is any harm in amusing one^s self a little. There was 
a time when you wouldnT have hesitated to do it yourself. 
Whatever you may say to the contrary, this young man 
doesnT look in the least like an assassin. He may be a 
rebel, but I donT care anything about his political opinions; 
and if you were the Aurelie de Saint-Amour of former days, 
we two would soon get him safely out of prison. He could 
make his escape to Paris, "and I could conceal him in my 
house there. 

Silence, simpleton! I)o me the favor to stop this non- 
sense, and to remember that you are not in a private house. 
Besides, your prisoner has vanished. Your handsome 
black-bird has been taken back to his cage.'’^ 

Are there any other prisoners 

A dozen, more or less; b^t they would not interest 
you. They are all poor peasants."'^ 

Ah, yes, the insurgents of last month. Was tlie young 
^man I just saw their leader 

No, indeed; I told you that it was he who sliot the 
commissioner last night. 

But they must have had a leader. 

Yes; a nobleman, who formerly resided in Paris. 

What is his name 

Baron Adhemar de Mussidan.^^ 

Why, I know him!^^ cried Coralie. He was a great 
admirer of Clara Lasource, a friend of mine. A handsome 
fellow he is, too, and spent money like a prince. And such 
glorious blue eyes as he had I He wasnT troubling himself 



90 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


‘ All the more reason that you should not show yourself 
af the window. He might recognize you.^^ 

He is here, then?^^ 

Yes, and the window of his cell is directly opposite 
that of this room.'^^ 

I have it. You don^t want me to see him because you 
are in love with him yourself. 

^^In love with a man I have only seen through prison 
bars!^^ exclaimed Mme. Marteau. ^^Do you think me as 
devoid of ^ense as yourself 

I think you must be bored to death here, and that you 
must consequently feel inclined to make the most of your 
few opportunities. Oh, don^t deny it. I know you, my 
dear, and I think you are quite right to have a little fun 
when you can. If I were in your place, I should have 
opened a correspondence with the handsome Adhemar 
long ago. 

You smile! So I am right, then. You throw kisses 
to each other, and that husband of yours is as blind as a 
bat. I begin to think that prisons are not such gloomy 
places after all, and if I can hfelp you in any way, you 
have only to let me know. 

Yes, and you will be guilty of some indiscretion that 
will ruin all three of us. I don^t distrust you, but I have 
a very poor opinion of your prudence, and even if I loved 
Monsieur de Mussidan, as you fancy, I would not admit as 
much to you for the very good reason that you could not 
keep the fact to yourself.'’^ ^ 

"^You misjudge me. A friend^s secrets are sacred. 
Besides, if I remain here two or three days, I shall know 
what to think. I have keen eyes. But, by the way, how 
do you get out of this place at night / 

We don^t get out of it. A prison is not an inn. The 
rules are very strict. 

care nothing about the rules, and I shouldnT be 
afraid to wager a handsome amount that you have found 
a way to evade them. But seriously, my friend, you had 
better tell me how matters really stand between you and 
the baron, for if I am left in ignorance I might make some 
blunder in talking with your husband. 

^‘^For instance, if I had not gained some inkling of the 
state of affairs, I should have been almost sure to tell him 
that I had often met Monsieur de Mussidan in Paris. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


U 

You had better take good care not to do that/ ^ said 
Mme. Marteau, hastily. ^‘^He is quite capable of turning 
^ . you out-of-doors^ and telling the sub-prefect that you were 
well acquainted with one of the prisoners.'’^ 

That wouldnT suit me at alb I niust admit. Biit what 
are they going to do with poor Adhemar?^^ 

X They talk of sending him to Cayenne; but I hope he 
will be spared that journey. He has influential friends. 
A relative of his, the Count de Sigoules, who resides in the 
neighborhood, is endeavoring to obtain his pardon. 

Sigoules is doubtless the tall, angular old man who 
cast sheep^s-eyes at me when I was crossing the square, just 
before I met you.^^ 

I shouldiiT wonder. I had just left hini.^^ 

Charlie told me that this Count de Sigoules was an 
enemy of the government. 

Yes, he is a strong Legitimist, and personally can not 
do very much for his cousin; but he is on very good terms 
with very influential persons in Paris. He was formerly a 
great friend of General de Plancoet, and if he would write 
to him, I am sure the pardon would be granted. 

Write to him yourself about it.^^ 

Impossible! He would wonder at my interest in Mon- 
sieur de Mussidan. Besides, the baron will get out of the 
scrape without my assistance. 

And what is likely to become of the other prisoner 

I am very much afraid that he will be condemned to 
death. 

Decapitate such a handsome young fellow? Hever! I 
object, most decidedly. 

DoiPt talk nonsense. We can do nothing. The gen- 
eral himself couldnT save him. 

Then if 1, who am only an insigniflcant woman, can 
save him, the deed would be all the grander, said Coralie, 
as if talking to herself. But as that is impossible, let us 
return to the subject of that charming baron. Tell me the 
truth now; havenT you found a way to see him a little 
nearer than through the bars?^^ 

Aurelie still hesitated. But she had had time to reflect, 
and had about come to the conclusion that she could not 
long conceal the truth from Coralie. 

Well, yes,^^ she replied, at last. I go to see him oc- 
casionally,''^ 


92 


THE PKETTY JAILEE. 


In tlie evening?^^ 

Of course. I have no other opportunity. My husband 
goes to bed at half past nine o^clock, after making his even- 
ing round, and rises again at three o^clock in the morning 
to make another. 

But how do you manage it?^^ 

Monsieur de Mussidan^s cell opens upon a corridor, 
separated from my room by a door, of which I have a du- 
plicate key. In this way I am able to gain an entrance 
into a part of the prison my husband^s subordinates never 
enter, for he distrusts them, and guards his more impor- 
tant prisoners himself. 

^^But how about the door of the cell?^^ 

^‘ That has no lock, hut is secured by bolts on the oui - 
side, and heavy iron bars as big as my wrist. Now, my 
dear, I have told you all, so let us try to devise some way 
to spend the few days you are going to give me in the most 
agreeable manner. 

I have found away. Why shouldn't I, too, have a 
prisoner to console? Louis Ohancelade^'s cell can not be 
far from that of the baron. 

You are very much mistaken, said Mine. Marteau, 
dryly. That young man^s cell is at the other end of the 
prison, and not in the same corridor as that of Monsieur 
de Mussidan.^^ 

“ Still, one can reach it all the same,^^ retorted Coralie. 

You have no intention of paying him a visit, I hope?^^ 

Not alone, no. I should not be able to find his cell, 
but there is nothing to prevent you from showing it to 
me.^'' 

‘‘1 shall do nothing of the kind. DonT you remember 
that you promised me you would be prudent. 

As prudent as you are. But you are going to see 
Adhemar.^"" 

But that is very different. 

‘LI fail to see the difference, except that Chancelade is 
dark-complexioned, and that Adhemar is fair. Every one 
to his taste, my dear. 

“ But you are here only for a few days.'^^ ^ 

“ All the more reason that I should make good use of 
them.^^ 

“ But you are not acquainted with this Chancelade/^ 

“ I am sure that he is dying to know me.'^^ 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


ya 

Because he saw you at the window 
Yes. Any one who falls in love with me at all, falls 
in lo-ve with me at first sight. 

"'That may be the case with a Parisian exquisite, but 
this fellow is a savage. 

"I will civilize him then.^^ 

" I doubt it very much. He cares only for politics, and 
he is expecting to be condemned to death. 

" I will promise to obtain his pardon. ■ 

"Why do you not arrange for his escape while you are 
about it?^^ 

" If I only could — 

"You would not hesitate to do it, and my husband would 
lose his place — perhaps even be accused of having been 
bribed to allow his prisoner to escape. If you intend to 
repay the service I have rendered you in this way — 

"Come, come, my dear, don't be angry. You know 
fchat I wouldn't do anything to cause you trouble for the 
world. What I Just said was said only in fun. How could 
I release your husband's prisoner-— I, who do not even know 
my way out of the prison?" 

" Let us change the subject, then." 

" Only one question more. W^hen are you going to pay 
your interesting prisoner another visit?" 

"This evening, perhaps." 

■ ^ The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance 
of a servant bearing a lamp, for night had come, and the 
ladies were talking in the dark. She announced, at the 
same time, that M. Marteau had Just ordered her to have 
supper two hours earlier than usual. 

" That suits me!" cried Coralie. " I have eaten nothing 
since morning, and I am nearly famished." 

Mme. Marteau said nothing. This change in the habits 
of the household worried her a little. She feared that her 
husband had also changed fche hours of his nightly rounds. 

He made his appearance soon afterward, and seemed to 
be in execrable humor. His always stern face was even 
more forbidding than usual in its expression. The only 
greeting he bestowed upon the pretended Mme. Minotte 
was a sulky nod, and he said curtly to his wife: 

" You will oblige me by not showing yourself at the 
; window of this room until further orders." 

^ “ And why, my dear?” his wife asked, gently. “ What 


94 


THE PBETTY JAILER. 


objection have you to my enjoying a little fresh air occa- 
sionally?^^ 

^^None whatever. And, up to the present time, I have 
never prevented you from doing so; hut the judge of in- 
struction here is a fool; he has brought back the most ab- 
surd ideas from Bordeaux. All the magistrates want the 
prisoners treated like officers under arrest. The first order 
this one gave me was to allow Ohancelade to walk in the 
court-yard twice a day and an hour at a time. . And that is 
what he calls keeping a man in solitary confinement. 

^‘^But the poor fellow takes his walks alone. He can 
communicate with no one."^^ 

You think so, do you. You forget that Baron de Mus- 
sidan can see him from his window. It is a shame to have 
prisons built like this. If you think it an easy matter to 
keep an eye on the prisoners in this old barrack you are 
very much mistaken. What surprises me is that they have 
not all made their escape long before this. 

You deserve all the more credit for preventing it.'’^ 
Yes, if I succeed in doing so; but there are times when 
I canT help thinking that everybody is in league with 
them.""^ 

I am not surprised that they have friends in Salviac, 
but no one thinks of helping them to escape. 

I am not so sure of that, and upon my word! I^m half 
inclined to send in my resignation. I really canT lead this 
sort of a life much longer.'’^ 

You know perfectly well that you wonT be obliged to 
remain here long. The general has not forgotten us, and 
when he hears the report Biat the sub-prefect has just sent 
to the minister, your promotion will not be long delayed. 

Nonsense! we are here .for a year, at the very least. 
This accursed department is in a state of continual revolt. 
Only last night the gendarmes were attacked on the road 
to Perigueux. 

Their leader received a severe wound in the back. 
Several new arrests are to be made, and I shall have three 
or four rascals more to guard. And how can I be respon- 
sible for them with such assistance as I have, only two 
under-keepers — two scoundrels who can be bought with a 
bottle of brandy. I canT stand this state of things am 
longer, and I am going to write to the minister and ask 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


9 ^ 


him to take Mussidaii and Cliancelade oft’ my hands as soon 
as possible. 

The two ladies exchanged glances^ and Coralie said, 
smilingly : 

Pardon me, Monsieur Marteau, but does the restriction 
in regard to the window apply to me too?'’^ 

Take it for yourself, if you like,'’^ replied the jailer, 
sulkily. I have no right to give you any orders as you 
are accountable only to those who sent you here, but I cer- 
tainly have a right to tell you that it is not in the prison 
that you will find the suspicious cliaracters you are to 
watch. 

In other words, my presence here annoys you, my dear 
cousin. 

No; for I hope and expect that you will spend most 
of your time elsewhere. But may the deuce take me if I 
can see how you are going to be of any service to the gov- 
ernment. You are not likely to meet any one.'’^ 

Monsieur Vignory will attend to all that.^^ 

Possibly. In any case that is his business, and I never 
meddle with matters that do not concern me. Is supper 
ready 

This question was addressed to Mme. Marteau, and the 
servant replied to it by saying, in accordance with provin- 
cial custom: 

The soup is on the table. 

They passed into the dining-room. Pierre’s face did not 
relax, his wife seemed greatly preoccupied, and Coralie be- 
came more gay and talkative than ever, for she was begin- 
ning to find the situation decidedly amusing. 

My dear cousin,” she remarked, lightly, after the soup 
was removed, you have received me very cordially, and I 
am very grateful to you, but I greatly fear that you have some 
doubts in regard to the importance of my mission. I will 
convince you that you are mistaken, and. that my giddy 
airs are indispensable to the satisfactory fulfillment of that 
mission. No one will suspect a young woman who seems 
to think only of enjoying herself. Monsieur Vignory ap- 
pears to understand this thoroughly, and on my return to 
Paris I shall speak of him to the minister in very flattering 
terms, and of you, too, of course; and in the meantime 
you will not refuse to give me the benefit of your advice, I 
am sure. 


96 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


To whicli of the inhabitants of this little town had 1 
best devote my attention first 

They are all equally unreliable/^ growled Pierre: and 
the officials are no better than the citizens. For instance, 
with the exception of t^iQprocureur and his assistant, all the 
magistrates uphold this Chancelade on account of his 
sister. 

Ah! — ^he has a sister 

Yes; and she is one you would do well to watch, what- 
ever my' wife may say to the contrary. I am sure that she 
is plotting to effect her brother's escape, with the aid of 
certain disreputable persons of her acquaintance. 8he 
brought him some clothing to-day, and I am very sorry 
that I gave it to him without subjecting it to careful ex- 
amination; but I did not have time just then, and I was hi 
a hurry to go to the court-house, to which the judge of in- 
struction had just summoned me. This girl perhaps con- 
cealed a file in her brother's clothing, and when I think of 
Aurelie^s interest in her — 

That is all very natural, cousin. Women always sym- 
pathize with one another, and even I, myself, feel a strong 
desire to pay Mademoiselle Chancelade a visit. Nor would 
such a step on my part be contrary to the mstructions I 
have received. 

Very well, but try to discover what she is plotting.'’^ 

Suppose we choose a more agreeable topic, remarked 
Aurelie, who had many reasons for desiring to change the 
subject. 

So she began to question her pretended cousin about 
their relatives, and they discoursed about so many uncles, 
aunts, and cousins that Pierre knew nothing about, that he 
WRs reduced to silence, and when the dessert was placed 
upon the table he asked Mme. Minotte^s permission to go 
and smoke his pipe in the clerk'^s office with his subordi- 
nates. Whereupon that lady replied that she intended 
to go to bed as soon as she left the table, and Aurelie de- 
clared her intention of doing the same, as she had a severe 
headache, so the husband bade them both good-night. 

After dinner, the ladies separated with a tender embrace, 
but without any allusion to the subject they had discussed 
with so much interest a short time before. 

No sound having proceeded from the little room occiqDied 
by the pretended emissary of the government between thf 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


97 


hours of nine and half past eleven, Mme. Marteaii very 
naturally concluded that her friend was enjoying the sound 
and dreamless sleep natural after a long and tiresome jour- 
ney over rough roads. 

Mme. Marteau had employed her time in arming her- 
self for conquest, that is to say, in making an elaborate 
toilet, and at a quarter of twelve, she stole noiselessly into 
the little saloTiy and thence to the door of her husband^s 
room which was at the end of quite a long passage-way. Here, 
she hesitated breathlessly, and hearing him snore with 
reassuring sonorousness and regularity, shei tiptoed back 
to the window of the drawing-room and parted the cur- 
tains. 

Lights were strictly forbidden in the prisoners^ cells, and 
this privation irritated Adhemar to such a degree that he 
never ceased to inveigh against a measure that compelled 
him to spend fourteen hours out of the twenty-four in 
darkness, at this season of the year, but the head- jailer had 
remained obdurate. 

Consequently, it was not a signal for which Aurelie was 
looking, but she wished to satisfy herself that nothing un- 
usual was going on in the court-yard. 

The moon had set, but the sky was cloudless, and the 
pale light of the stars enabled Aurelie to distinguish the 
bars of the opposite window. It even seemed to her that 
she could discern a shadowy form at the window of M. de 
Mussidan^s cell. 

He had doubtless heard the court-house clock strike 
the hour, and was impatiently Avaiting for midnight. 

There was no sign of life in the wing on which Louis 
Chancelade Avas confined, nor in the prison-yard, so Aurelie 
groped her Avay cautiously to the corridor, opening and 
closing the communicating door noiselessly behind her. 

The corridor Avas not lighted, as it should have been, 
and Pierre Marteau had more than once sworn about the 
stinginess of an administration that seemed unAvilling to 
furnish even lanterns and oil; but this Avas not the first 
time his Avife had made this little excursion, and she did not 
hesitate for a moment. 

About twenty feet fron> the door the corridor made a 
sharp turn, and the baron^s cell Avas the first on the right 
after the corner Avas passed. 

Aurelie soon reached it, deftly removed the bars, slipped 


98 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


back the bolts^ and glided into the celk where Adhemar 
received her with open arms. 

They both knew the value of their time, and made the 
most of it. Many things of interest had occurred since 
their last interview, so the conversation did not languish, 
though it was carried on in an almost inaudible tone. 

You have a visitor, have you notP^Mnquiredthe baron. 
I thought I saw a rather pretty woman at the window of 
your drawing-room this afternoon.''^ 

Didn^t you recognize her?^^ 

It seemed to me I had seen her somewhere "before. 
She looked like a Parisienne, but I can^t recall where I met 
her.^" 

You have often taken supper with her and a certain 
.Clara Lasource, you naughty boy.^^ 

^^Oh, I remember now. It must be Ooralie."^^ 

Exactly. 

She is a very amusing person; but how did you happen 
to make her acquaintance?^^ 

knew her in Paris before my marriage. We were 
not in the same set, but I used to visit her occasionally.^" 

But what is she doing here?"" 

She thought it would be a good joke to come down 
and pay the sub-prefect a visit, so what should she do but 
go dashing up to the door of the prefecture in a post- 
chaise. You can imagine the result. Poor Monsieur 
Vignory was nearly frightened to death. But it so hajD- 
pened that I met her just before she reached the prefect- 
ure, and had a talk with her. She repeated our conversa- 
tion to Vignory, who came to me, and implored me to pass 
her off as my cousin, and grant her my hospitality for a 
few days, and thinking it a good joke, I consented."" 

But how about your husband?"" 

He doesn"t know much about my relatives, and he be- 
lieves everything I tell him. ^Besides, the sub-prefect as- 
sured him that my cousin was a secret agent of the govern- 
ment, and the bait took, especially as it was accompanied 
by promise of promotion. I have taken her into my con- 
fidence. She is a good girl, utterly incapable of betraying 
me, and takes an immense interest in you. In fact, she is 
already dreaming of securing your release. ""^ 

She is very kind, I am sure; but I am in no hurry to 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 99 

leave here. If I should make my escape I could not see 
you any more.^^ 

How complimentary you are! But I am not selfish, 
and I hope you will soon be set at liberty. They are con- 
sidering your case now in Paris, and, if necessary I shall 
write to the general. 

Many thanks; but I prefer to await the good pleasure 
of the ministers. If I had influential friends I should rec- 
ommend to their favorable consideration a worthy fellow I 
saw promenading the court-yard to-day. What is he doing 
here? He was not with us when we marched upon Salviac. 
Why has he been arrested 

True. You do not know that the commissioner was 
shot last night. 

^^Well, what of it?^^ 

Well, this Chancelade is accused of the crime. 

^^He?^^ exclaimed M. de Mussidan, forgetting the im- 
prudence he was committing in thus raising his voice. 

DonT speak so loud, I beg,^^ said Aurelie, putting her 
little soft fingers playfully over his mouth. 

The handsome Adhemar repulsed her almost roughly, 
and hastilty rose from the wooden bench upon which they 
had both been sitting, side by side. 

^^What is the matter ?^^ inquired his companion, in 
alarm. 

The young man is innocent, and yet they are quite 
capable of condemning him. It shall not be.*^^ 

But how are you going to prevent it?^^ 

^^By getting him away from here.^^ 

I wish we could, but you know that is impossible. 

Why? I was able to get out of the prison, thanks to 
you.^" 

But you had sworn to return, and I knew that you 
would keep your oath. You did keep it, and returned an 
hour afterward. But it was a miracle that you were not 
captured. I should have been ruined had you been seen 
leaving or re-entering the prison from the window of my 
room. I knew that my husband was absent, and you were 
so anxious to destroy the list of insiirgents that you had 
buried at the foot of one of the trees on the esplan^e, that 
I yielded, to prove to you how much I loved you.^^ 

Give me*' still another proof of it by setting Louis 
Chancelade free.^^ 


100 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


But you are asking me to risk my very life. He would 
not return^ and to-morrow when my husband discovered 
that the prisoner was missing, he would suspect that I as- 
sisted him in making his escape, and he would kill me."^^ 

But why should he suspect you? You are the last per- 
son he would be likely to suspect. 

But even if they do not accuse me, they will accuse 
him — ; 

And he will lose his place? What of it? You can hot . 
make me believe that you want to be the wife of a jailer 
forever. The general will find him another place in Paris, 
and if I am not sent to Cayenne, I shall meet you again 
there. 

But I do not even know this Ohanceladp. Why do you 
take such an interest in him?^^ 

Because he is innocent, as I said before. If he had 
been arrested on account of his political opinion, I would 
not ask you to interfere in his behalf, for he would get off 
with a short imprisonment like the others; but his life is at 
stake, and I do not want him to lose it on account of a 
crime he did not commit. 

But how do you know that he did not commit it? He 
was arrested immediately after the murder with a gun, 
which had just been fired, in, his hand.'^^ 

I repeat that it was not he who killed the commissioner. 
He did not know him, and he had no insult to avenge. 
Will you believe me when I swear it?^^ added Adhemar, 
almost angrily. 

I believe you, and if his fate depended upon me, I 
would save him; but I can do nothing. 

You can surely do to-day what you did yesterday. It 
will be a less difficult task, in fact, as Chancelade will not 
return, so you will not be obliged to wait for him, and 
throw him a rope.*^^ 

‘'"But I do not even know where his cell is, faltered 
Mme. Marteau. 

"" I know. I saw him through the bars at his window, 
and I have had ample time to study this prison during my 
sojourn here. It is built in the form of a hollow square. 
Your rooms are directly opposite the cell in which they 
have placed me. Chancelade^s is at the lower end of the 
court-yard, so you have only to follow this^corridor, and 
you will find it after making the first turn to the right. "'’ 


THE PRETTY JAILER. lOl 

the door is not secured by bars like yours. There 
is a padlock on it. 

Have you seen this padlock 
'NOy but my husband told me so.^^ 

Then he lied, and I will soon satisfy you of the fact. 
Come with me. 

What, would you leave your cell at the risk of being 
seen in the corridor? No, you shall do nothing of the kind.'’^ 
Admit that you tremble for yourself. Ah, well, I will 
go alone, if you will promise me to take Chancelade to your 
room as soon as I have opened the door of his cell for him, 
and to allow him to leap from your window into the street. 

That might have been done yesterday, when Coralie 
was not here; but to-night she is sleeping in the little room 
next to mine, and she would be sure to hear me. 

^^But you just told me that she was anxious to devise 
some way to effect my release. You can tell her it is 

She would not believe me, Adhemar. I entreat you 
not to ask impossibilities.^^ 

Then you refuse to comply with my request 
would gladly do so, but I can not.^^ 

Very well. It is getting late. Keturn to your apart- 
ments, and do not come here again. 

You drive me away?^^ 

Yes, to prevent you from compromising yourself. I 
know now what I will do. I will save Chancelade without 
your assistance, as you desert me.^^ 

How will you save him?^^ 

It will be an easy matter. I shall send for the judge 
of instruction to-morrow, and tell him it was I who killed 
Santelli, the infamous Corsican, that Chancelade has never 
even seen, I suspect. 

He will not believe you. You were in prison when 
the commissioner was killed.’’^ 

I shall say that I was not.^^ 

You will do nothing of the kind. No gentleman 
would denounce a woman. 

You compel me to do it. When the life of an inno- 
cent man is at stake I can not hesitate. Besides, your 
reputation will not suffer. I shall say that you came to 
see me for humanity^s* sake, and that you yielded to my 
entreaties to allow me to absent myself an hour in order 
to destroy the list of the December insurgents. I shall say 


103 


THE PKETTY JAILEE. 


that this list was buried at the foot of one of the trees on 
the esplanade^ only a few steps from the club-house; that 
the commissioner and the sub-prefect passed me, without 
seeing me; and that, having recognized them, an irresisti- 
ble desire to kill the pitiless persecutor of the unfortunate 
peasantry seized me; that I went to the ierrace, and that 
from there — 

They will say you invented all this, and that you could 
not have fired the shot, as you had no gim/^ 

I shall tell where I procured the one I made use of/^ 

‘ Aurelie gave a violent start. 

Is this true?^^ she faltered. 

True or not, it is what I am going to say.'^^ 

No one will believe that the Baron de Mussidan killed 
a defenseless man. Every one knows that you are incapable 
of such a cowardly crime. 

In war a man kills his enemy when and where . he 
can; and when one has to deal with a ferocious beast one 
lies in wait for him in the forest. 

But this commissioner had not injured you. He was 
not even in Salviac when you were arrested. 

y That makes no difference. But let us put an end to 
this. It is useless for me to see Ohancelade, as you refuse 
to let him escape by way of your window. Go back to your 
own apartments, and forget that I exist. I bear you no 
ill-will. You have made me pass some very pleasant 
moments. I shall think of that on my way to the gallows, 
whither you are sending me.^^ 

Hush, hush sobbed Mme. Marteau, flinging her arms 
about his neck, and covering his face with passionate 
kisses. I love you, and I will risk everything to save 
your life.'''’ 

Then you consent 

i To anything. Command, and I will obey."^ 

That is well. You have a heart, after all, and I will 
convince you some day that a kind act is always rewarded, 
sooner or later. But we must not lose a minute. . Your 
friend is asleep, I'suppose?^^ 

^^Yes; and Pierre- also. 

Come then. I might let you go alone, for I can trust 
you; but Chancelade, who does not know you, miglit think 
you were setting a trap for liim when you proposed fliglit. 

I must be on hand to explain the situation. After that, I 


THE PKETTY JAILEE. 


103 


! will intrust him to your care. You must lock me up again 
in my cell, and then conduct him to your room, and open 
the window for him. He will require no further assistance 
from you. 

But what if he should be recaptured? Where can he 
find a safe place of eoncealment when he is once out of 
prison 

^" Don^’t trouble yourself about that. He will find plenty 
of hiding-places in the neighborhood; besides, he will not 
remain in this locality. His friends will furnish him with ' 
the means to go to some foreign land. Come, 1 say.'' 

Aurelie went out first; Adhemar followed. After 
cautiously replacing the bars, they stole down the corridor, 
pausing now and then to listen. 

A profound, silence pervaded the prison. The court- 
house clock had just struck one, and Mme. Marteau began 
to think that the perilous undertaking would prove suc- 
cessful, after all. She did not believe that the baron had 
killed the commissioner; but she believed him to be quite 
capable of accusing himself of the crime, and she was resolved 
to prevent this at any cost. 

Moreover, she was beginning to attach very little im- 
portance to the consequences of her act, and to feel proud 
to run some risk to please this handsome baron who held 
out a hope of a future meeting in Paris. 

After all, no one could possibly suspect her of having 
any hand in the matter. Every one would lay the blame 
upon one of her husband's subordinates, and suppose that 
he had been bribed by some friend of the prisoner. 

Coralie, alone, might possibly suspect the truth, but 
Ooralie would not betray her old friend; besides, she would 
be. delighted to learn that the handsome prisoner had made 
his escape. 

These thoughts were passing through Mme. Marteau's 
mind when she heard some one preceding them with a cat- 
like step. Adhemar, too, had heard the sound, and he 
stopped short, and laid a warning hand on his companion's 
arm. 

If there really was any one in the corridor, they could 
not escape Jiim by flight. It would be better to pause and 
listen. 

They had reached the point where the corridor made a 


104 


THE PKETTX JAILER. 


1 ^ of footsteps 

which had so excited their fears was no longer audible. ^ 

I'erhaps the spy was lying in wait for them, beyond the 
or perhaps, on the contrary, he was hiding, in the 
nope of escaping them. ° 

Stepping past Aurelie, the baron slipped into the corner, 
JlJjP'i'^tiiigouthis head, listened with breathless eager- 

Aurehe clung to him, but did not move. The baron 
attention, and heard the sound 
wonian breathing, the breathing of a panting 

This d^iscovery reassured him, and advancing a little 
fn e*oufait® stretched out his right arm, and his hand came 
in contact with a shoulder that he instantly seized. 

voice harm me!” murmured a trembling 

Mme. Marteau sprung forward. She had guessed who 
the culprit was^ and she saidy softly: 

"‘^Is it you, Ooralie.^'" 

Yes, save me. 

mdvrf topll" 

4. alarmed, he said, kindly, supporting* the 

"‘'Uetendedcousi.. 

Coralie recognized the baron^s voice. 

11?°^ fortunate!” she murmured, heaving a sigh of relief. 

■ ^ *j^?o^ht it was that old curmudgeon, Marteau: and I 
was frightened nearly to death.” ? <■ i 

f fh“f’”said Aurelie, ‘‘for it may teach 

you to stay quiet y m bed after this. You promised me 
you would not stir out of your room. ” 

long?” ^ ^ any 

1 r" “to this part of the prison? I 

locked the door leading into the corridor behind me.” 

Ao, you only thought you locked it.”. 

All this doesn’t matter in the least,” interrupted Ad- 
liemar who was unwilling to waste any more precious time 
in explanations. ‘‘ You remember the young man you saw 
yesterday in the prison-vard, do you not?^^ 

Yes, of course. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


105 


Would you like to save liim?^^ 

I Yes, indeed. What must I do — put on his clothes, give 
' him mine, and lock myself up in his cell.^ I have read a 
I story something like that. 

! What you have to do* is much more simple. You are 
, merely to conduct him to madame^’s chamber, open the 
j window for him, and allow him to jump down into the 
i street/^ 

‘"''But he will break his neck, and that would be a pity, 
such a handsome fellow as he is.’^^ 

He will do nothing of the kind. It is only a jump of 
about nine feet, a mere trifle. He will land upon his feet, 
and then you will see him make them fly. 

Nothing would please me better. Say, Aurelie, what 
a rueful countenance your liege lord will wear to-morrow ! 
And Vignory — Bah! I don^’t care; I have gone over to the 
enemy. If Chancelade needs any assistance when he is 
once out of prison, he has only to come to Paris. I will 
conceal him.'’^ 

Thanks; but we must waste no more time here. Fol- 
low me now, both of you.^^ 

They were only a short distance from the door of Chan- 
celade^s cell, and the occupant of it, being wide awake, had 
heard the murmur of voices, and was now standing with 
his ear to the little slide in the door. 

He was greatly astonished when the baron removed the 
bars, gently drew the bolts, opened the door, and whis- 
pered : 

^^It is I! Adhemar de Mussidan. I come to set you 
free.^^ 

You, sir!^^ murmured Edmee^s brother. 

He was but little acquainted with the young nobleman, 
though his father had been one of his most enthusiastic 
followers; and it was not from him that he expected as- 
sistance, for their political opinions differed widely. 

‘^^Yes, my dear fellow, replied Adhemar, and it de- 
pends only upon yourself to leave this prison to-night. 
Ask no explanation. I have no time to give it. Only tell 
me if you have any safe place of refuge when you are once 
out of prison, for I suppose you can not conceal yourself 
in your fathers house. 

^^I should not be safe there; besides, I might com- 


106 THE PRETTY JAILER. 

promise my sister. I shall go and join a friend in the for- 
est of Valade/^ 

^‘^Your friend is Jacques^ my cousin Sigoules^ former 
game-keeper^ I suppose. Very well. I am glad you have 
a safe hiding-place at your disposal^ and by and by, if I 
am set at liberty, I will see that your innocence is estab- 
lished beyond a doubt. 

, ^^Now, come.-^^ 

Chancelade left his cell. Adhemar closed the door after 
him, replaced the bars, took him by the arm, and led him 
down the corridor. 

The two ladies followed in silence. 

On reaching the cell allotted to him, Adhemar paused 
and said: 

^^My dear fellow, this is Mademoiselle Marteau, whose 
husband is keeper of the prison, and this is Mademoiselle 
Marteau^s cousin. I intrust you to their charge. Allow 
tliem to be your guides, and do exactly what they tell you 
to do. Now, madame, I will re-enter my luxurious apart- 
ment. Will you have the goodness to lock me in?^^ 

And after shaking hands with Chancelade, he stepped 
into his cell. 

Mme. Marteau had quite recovered her wonted coolness, 
and was now beginning to sincerely regret her connection 
in this dangerous undertaking; but the die was cast, and 
she must go promptly and resolutely on unto the end. 

The door leading from the corridor was passed without 
accident, and it was only necessary to ascend a few steps 
to reacli the in which Mme. Marteau^s piano stood. 

Pass on,^^ she said to Ooralie, ^^and wait for me in my 
chamber. I will be there in a moment. 

Coralie obeyed, and Mme. Marteau, turning to Chan- 
celade, said: 

Is it too much to ask you to promise me upon your 
word of honor that you will never tell any one how you 
made your escape from this prison? You may be recapt- 
ured. Swear to me that you will be silent, whatever hap- 
j)ens.'’^ 

swear, madame. 

Swear by the life of your sister. 

You know her?^^ inquired Louis, suiqDrised to hear his 
jailer^s wife speak of Edmee. 

^^Yes, and I am glad to restore her brother to her. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


107 


You will see her soon, I trust. Tell her what I have done 
for you — and do not forget that I have your promise. If 
you break it, I shall be undone.''^ 

You can trust me, madame; I never betrayed any one 
in my life. 

Aurelie took his hand, and guided him across the salon 
to the bedroom, where they found Coralie ready to open the 
window. 1 

Aurelie had just bolted the door behind them when she 
heard another door open. i 

There comes my husband,^^ she whispered, in terror. : 

‘^Oh, well, this gentleman can leap down in the street, 
replied Coralie. Your husband will arrive too late."'’ 

No, the window of his room also overlooks the street, 
and what if he should take it into his head to look out. 
Step into the dressing-room, both of you. Even if he should 
come in here, he will not think of going any further."" 

Coralie was delighted to take a more active part in this 
handsome young man"s escape, so she dragged him into 
the adjoining room. 

Mine. Marteau undressed herself in the twinkling of an 
eye, and sprung into bed. 

It was time, for the floor of the salon was already creak- 
ing under her husband"s heavy tread. 

He was about to make his nightly round, doubtless, 
tliough it was not yet two o"clock. In another instant, 
some one tapped softly on the door, and she heard M. 
Marteau ask in subdued tones: 

Aurelie, are you asleep?"" 

She felt that if she did not reply, he would be sure to 
persist in the inquiry, and that she must present a bold 
front to the enemy. 

So springing out of bed, she drew back the bolt, opened 
the door part way, and saw her husband standing there, 
with a dark-lantern in his hand. 

What is the matter, my dear?"" she inquired, yawning 
like a person who was still more than half asleep. Speak 
lower, I beg of you, miless you want to wake my cousin. "" 

I have a word or two that I must say to you."" 

Say it quickly then. I am half frozen."" 

It is this. I have been warned that an attempt to free 
the prisoners will be made to-night by the insurgents. I 
don"t believe a word of it, but I have taken my precautions. 


108 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


If the rebels come, they will meet with a w^arm reception; 
so if you hear any noise, don't be frightened, but do your 
best to reassure Madame Minotte. Eemain in your own 
room, whatever happens. I am going to see if my birds 
are still in their cages. Good-night." 

Having said this, Pierre Marteau walked quietly away. 
His wife hastily closed the door, and ran into the adjoining 
' dressing-room. 

My husband has his suspicions!" she whispered hur- 
riedly. You haven't a moment to lose." 

As she spoke, she cautiously opened the window, leaned 
out, and satisfied herself that there was no one in the nar- 
row street. 

The way is clear. Go!" she said. 

Thanks!" replied Edmee's brother, extending a hand 
to each of his benefactresses. 

Then springing lightly over the window-sill, he clung 
there a moment, measuring the distance that separated him 
from the ground, then released his hold. 

Heaven grant that he has not broken his neck!" mur- 
mured Ooralie, anxiously. 

^^No," replied her friend, glancing out. ^^He is run- 
ning up the street. He is out of sight now ! He has reached 
the open fields, and he is safe. " 

And she hastily closed the window. 

You will now do me the favor to go back to bed, and 
stay there until to-morrow morning," she added, dryly. 

You very narrowly escaped ruining us all. However soon 
you may feel inclined to start for Paris, I shall not attempt 
to detain you. " 

You are angry with me. You certainly have no reason 
to be. All's well that ends well." 

You think the affair ended? You will find out your 
mistake to-morrow morning, when my husband discovers 
that his prisoner has escaped. I don't know who he will 
blame, but you had better make your preparations for de- 
parture. We, too, may have to pack up our trunks, and 
the sub-prefect into the bargain. " 

I don't care. It doesn't make the slightest difference 
to me. Still, I must say that your conduct is inoomiDre- 
hensible. Why didn't you allow Mussidan to escape, too, 
while you v/ere about it?" 

That is none of your business." 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 


109 


I can giiess^ however. You know that he is in no 
danger, so you prefer to keep him here for your own pleas- 
ure. 

Aurelie was about to make a curt reply when the report 
of a musket interrupted her. 

They are firing!"^ she exclaimed. 

Upon my Adonis/" cried Ooralie. They have killed 
him, the brutes! If it is that boor of a Marteau, he shall 
pay dearly for it."" 

^^Tlie shot was fired in the court-yard, and so could not 
have been aimed at Chancelade. "" 

"‘ At whom, then, was it aimed?"" 

""How can I tell? St. Adhemar, perhaps."" 

"" Impossible! He is in his cell, and unless your husband 
has gone there to blow his brains out — "" 

Aurelie took no notice of this pleasant suggestion, but 
rushed to the salon in order to find out what was going 
on. 

Coralie was not a person to be left behind, so they both 
ran to the window, though they dared not open it for fear 
of attracting the attention of Pierre Marteau, who was talk- 
ing excitedly with one of his subordinates. 

The two ladies could not hear what the men were saying, 
but they could judge pretty accurately by the jailer"s gest- 
ures, which were plainly visible in the light of his lantern. 

The assistant keeper still held the weapon he had just 
fired, and with his other hand he was pointing to the roof 
of the wing in which Louis Chancelade had been con-, 
fined. 

This seemed to indicate that the shot had been fired at 
some one whom he had seen upon the roof, and who could 
have climbed it with but one object. 

Soon, another keeper came running up, also armed with 
a musket, and the ladies saw Marteau give an order, and 
point toward the gate of the prison; and the two men 
rushed off in that direction. 

"" He has sent them out to bring in the man they killed!"" 
murmured Coralie. 

""It must have been one of Chancelade" s friends who 
came here to try to release him,"" replied Aurelie. 

""But he was less successful than we were. Gracious! 
won"t your husband be in a rage when he discovers that his 
prisoner is gone. I believe he is going there, now, to see. 


110 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


If youll take my advice^ my dear, you^ll go to bed, and 
pretend to be asleep, as Fm going to do. 

The advice was good; and Aurelie followed it. Inter- 
rupted in his nightly round by this alarming incident, 
Pierre Marteau resolved to lose no time in satisfying him- 
self of the safety of his more important prisoners, and 
leaving to his subordinates the task of finding or pursuing 
the intruder, he hastened back into the prison. 

^ The first cell he entered was that of the Baron de Mus- 
sidan. He opened it abruptly, and found Adhemar stand- 
ing at the window. 

What are you doing there he cried, savagely. 

^^I am looking out, as you can see for yourself, sneered 
the prisoner. It seems you are beginning to shoot pris- 
oners in the prison-yard, at night, as the Due d'Enghien 
was shot at Vincennes, and I am the more anxious to see 
it, as my time will come soon, I suppose. 

The jailer slammed the door violently, locked it, and 
hastened on to Ohancelade^s cell. 

This time he began by calling to him through the slide 
in the door. Of course, he received no reply, but his anx- 
iety was greatly relieved by the discovery that the bars and 
and the bolts were all in place. 

You are asleep, you scoundrel he muttered. Wait 
a minute, and I will rouse you, you may be sure. 

He slipped back the bolt, entered the cell, and uttered a 
cry of surprise. The cell was empty. He tipped over the 
camp-bed and poked his lantern into every corner, but 
without finding any one. He then went to the window: 
the glass and bars were intact. 

Page seized him, and losing his wits completely, he 
rushed out into the corridor like a mad man, yelling: 

Stop him! Kill him like a dog!^^ 

Mussidan, who was prepared for the explosion, was look- 
ing out into the passage through the slide in the door of 
his cell, and could not deny himself the pleasure of ask- 
ing sneeringly: 

"" What are you after, my dear Monsieur Marteau? Is it . 
possible that one of your prisoners has escaped 
But the head-jailer was already in the court-yard, and 
there he found his two assistants who had just returned 
from a fruitless search. 

""I am sure that I hit him, however, said the one who 


THE PRETTY JAILER. Ill 

had fired the shot. There is blood at the foot of the 
wall. 

He climbed the roof and descended from it by clinging 
to the water-spout/^ remarked the other. know only 
one man in this neighborhood who is capable of such a 
feat.^; 

Silence^ you whelps/^ roared Marteau. ^^Ohancelade 
has escaped! Some one opened the door for him. Oh, you 
are a nice pair, you are!^^ 

. And as they attempted to protest their innocence, he 
thundered : 

Be off with you now! you to the barracks, and you to 
the sub-prefecture. Wake them all up, and bring them 
here. I will wait for them in the office. Tell them to make 
haste, or I shall do something desperate. 

He yelled out the words so savagely that they distinctly 
reached the ears of the guilty women, and made them 
tremble in their beds. 


CHAPTEE V. 

Ok the morning following this eventful night the whole 
town of Salviac was in an uproar. Citizens stopped fco 
question one another in the streets, and the public squares 
were crowded. 

Ho one knew anything definite, but there were rumors 
that a party of armed men had attempted to force open the 
doors of the jail and release the prisoners. 

The people residing in the immediate neighborhood of 
the prison pretended to have heard a lively fusillade, and 
those who had rushed to the window, had seen with their 
own eyes, the gendarmes leave the barracks on their way 
to the prison, to which the sub-prefect and the procnreur 
subsequently hastened. 

More than this, no one could say, for the head-jailer'^s 
first care had been to enjoin absolute secrecy. 

It was whispered that the Baron de Mussidan had es- 
caped, and the authorities had favored his escape, and many 
inveighed loudly against the injustice of so severely pun- 
ishing poor, misguided peasants, and allowing their leader 
to go free, merely because he had influential friends. 


112 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


Tliey were greatly mistaken, however, for the function- 
aries in question were in a state of profound consternation. 

Hastily aroused in the middle of the night, they had 
rushed to the prison without knowing what the trouble 
really was, and when Pierre Marteau told them, they at 
first refused to believe it; but it was necessary to surrender 
to the evidence, and the procicreur soon evinced a decided 
inclination to suspect the head-jailer of complicity in the 
affair. 

This functionary did not believe in miracles, and as the 
door and window of the cell were intact, he felt sure that 
Chancelade could not have escaped by the roof, Conse- 
quently some person must have conducted him to the 
street, and that person must necessarily have been one of 
the inmates of the establishment. 

The sub-prefect felt obliged to undertake Pierre Mar- 
teau^s defence. He ridiculed the idea that M. de Mussi- 
dan had been allowed to receive messages, and even letters, 
from outside, and called attention to the fact that one of 
the keepers had wounded a man perched upon the roof, 
a]id that this man had not climbed upon it without an 
object. 

His arguments were but moderately successful. All he 
could obtain, was permission to question Mussidan, whose 
answers were insolent in the extreme. He pretended that 
he had seen and heard nothing — complained bitterly be- 
cause his slumbers had been disturbed, and concluded by 
asking the procureur if he was paid to prevent honest peo- 
ple from sleeping. 

The procnreur’s assistant, Bizouin, completed our worthy 
sub-prefect^s discomfiture by proposing that they should 
hear the testimony of Mme. Marteau and the relative who 
had enjoyed the hospitality of the jailer's ivife the night 
before, and Marteau Avas obliged to summon the ladies, 
who, hoAvever, had had plenty of time to prepare for the 
anticipated examination. 

Aurelie gave her testimony Avith admirable coolness, and 
Avithout the slightest reluctance; but Ooralie manifested 
intense indignation. She declared she could not under- 
stand why she should be troubled about the matter, that 
she had nothing Avhatever to do Avith guarding the prison- 
ers under her cousin's charge, and gave the gentlemen to 
understand that she should report to certain high and 


THE PRETTY JAILER* 


113 


mighty personages the annoyance to which she had been 
subjected^ and;, indeed^ carried her impudence so far as to 
appeal to Charles Vignory;, who heartily wished her in 
Jericho. 

That unfortunate young man began to realize that it 
would, be difficult;, if not impossible^ to get himself out of 
this scrape, and apprehended with reason that his dismissal 
would be the result of this imbroglio. 

The conference finally ended with the issuing an order to 
start out all the gendarmes in pursuit of Louis Chancelade, 
and on the supposition that he could have taken refuge 
only in the house of his sister, or of the Count de Sigoules, 
the residence of each was to be searched without delay. 

After the departure of the officials there was very little 
sleeping done at the prison. 

Pierre Marteau, openly censured and threatened with 
dismissal, had a stormy interview with his wife and her 
pretended cousin, with no other result than to exasperate 
him still more deeply. Aurelie scorned to vindicate her- 
self, and Coralie signified her intention of immediately 
leaving for Paris to complain of the affront she had re- 
ceived. 

Such was the state of affairs wdien, at break of day, the 
commissioner of police presented himself at Edmee's house, 
armed with a search-warrant. Her brother had not re- 
turned to his home, and Jacques had left no trace of his 
presence there; but she learned that Louis had escaped, 
and that an unknown person had been wounded while at- 
tempting to release the prisoner. 

She did not doubt that the wounded man was Jacques, 
and this thought marred the joy that the news would other- 
wise have caused her; but she did not think of attempting 
to join them in the place where she supposed them to be. 
She realized perfectly that her every movement would be 
closely watched, and that she must not leavR the town for 
some time. All she felt at liberty to do was to go and con- 
sult her neighbor, M. Braconne, who approved her resolve 
of keeping perfectly quief, but blamed Ohancelade for hav- 
ing fled, instead of waiting for the jury to acquit him. He 
confessed to Edmee that he had seen Jacques enter her 
house, and seemed to greatly deplore the inopportune in- 
terference of this Eobin H!ood, who, in his opinion, was 
responsible for the escape of M. Marteau^s prisoner. 


114 THE PRETTY JAILER. 

Tlie Count cle Sigoules was likewise appnsed of tlie 
event that same mornings for the lieutenant in command 
of the Salviac gendarmes appeared at the chateau on horse- 
back at the head of four men, and was courteously received 
by the old nobleman. M. de Sigoules offered to take him 
from the top to the bottom of the manor-house and farm- 
house, as he was sure that no one had taken refuge there, 
and when he learned that they were not seeking his cousin, 
Mussidan, but Ohancelade, the supposed murderer of the 
commissioner, he distinctly declared that he would have 
shut his doors in the face of the assassin if he had dared to 
seek a shelter there. 

The lieutenant and his men consequently returned 
emiity-handed, though not ill-pleased, for they had been 
liberally regaled with the old nobleman^s excellent wine; 
besides, they were firm believers in Louis Ohancelade^ s in- 
nocence. 

When they reached Salviac they found the authorities 
more excited than ever. Tlie chief of police was sending 
out messengers in every direction; the sub-prefect was im- 
mured in his office, vainly seeking a way of averting the 
storm which would surely burst upon his devoted head if 
the prisoner was not found, and cursing Marteau, his wife, 
and, above all, Coralie, whom he suspected of being the 
cause of the whole trouble. 

Inside the prison, the state of affairs was still worse. 
The domestic dissensions had so increased in violence that 
Mme. Marteau. had threatened her husband with General 
Plancoet^s anger; the jailer had retaliated by some very 
uncomplimentary allusions to Aurelie de Saint- Amour s 
past; and Coralie, in order to reconcile them, probably, 
had made free to tell them that one of them was no better 
than the other, and that she hoped she should never lay 
eyes on them again. 

Having taken this bold step there was nothing left for her 
ta do, and she resolved to depart tliat very day without 
saying a word to any one. 

Her trunks had not yet arrived, but she felt sure that 
Vignory would lose no time in sending them back to Paris 
when they did; so the only difficulty she had to contend 
with, was to find a means of transportation in a town with 
whicli she Avas but little acquainted. 

She was not easily daunted, however, so about noon sJie 


115 


'EJJE N^RETTY jailer. 

started out^ feeling confideiix— ^as but few persons had seen 
her during the twenty-four hours she had spent in Salviac — 
that she could seek and find a livery stable without attract- 
ing much attention. 

She crossed the square, and reached the main street, 
without any unpleasant incident, and had been ascending 
that about five minutes, when she perceived that some one 
was following her. She did not need to turn and look 
around to be sure that it was a gentleman; she knew it, 
and being thoroughly versed in the tactics to which women 
resort in such cases, she crossed the street. The person 
who was following her did the same. She slackened her 
pace to allow him to pass; he also, slackened his. She 
walked on more rajiidly; he suited his pace to hers. 

Just then, she perceived a sign upon^ which an untutored 
artist had depicted a yellow caUchey drawn by two choco- 
late-colored horses, and she thought: 

Here is what I want. ISTow I have only to find the 
coachman. He must be somewhere about. 

She had forgotten her follower who now came up, bow- 
ing politely, and inquired, with a courteous air: 

Are you looking for a carriage, madame.^^^ 

She eyed him keenly before replying, and saw that he 
was young, tolerably good-looking, and not badly dressed 
for a provincial. 

Yes,"’"’ she replied, but I tliink I shall find one here. 
^^The stable-keeper lives at the other end of the alley, 
and you could not get there without mudying your shoes. 
Will you allow me to call him for you?'^ 

She hesitated an instant, but this obliging young man 
had quite a comme ilfcmi air, besides, she never scrupled 
to accept a favor from any one. 

Gladly, she replied, ^^and I thank you in advance, 
for you will save me from a very disagreeable tramp. 

I can easily send a carriage to the hotel where you are 
stopping, and at any hour you may be pleased to mention.'’^ 

I am not stopping at the hotel, and I wish to leave 
town immediately. 

That will be a very easy matter, and if you will tell 
me where you are going, I can settle upon the terms with 
the stable-keeper, who will bring the cariole here. I say 
the cariole, for though it is a shabby affair, it is the best 
in the town. 


116 


THE PHETTY J. 


/ 

ir^ - 


I am going to Paris/^ - 

"'Not by carriage, I suppose/" said the young man, 
laughing. 

" Nothing would please me better, but the horse would 
die on the way. I only expect to reach the nearest railway 
station."" 

" That is Chateauroux— quite a little distance off."" 

"I know that but too well, for I made the journey only 
yesterday in an uncomfortable coupe, that I made a great 
mistake in dismissing upon my arrival here."" 

Ooralie bit her lip in disgust with hgrself, for she saw by 
the gentleman"s face that he knew the history of her entry 
into Salviac. But she had gone too far to retreat; besides, 
she cared very little if this new acquaintance did tell his 
compatriots that the strange lady had gone back to Paris. 
She had no fears that Vignory would set the gendarmes on 
her track. He would be only too glad to get rid of her. 

"You can go in two short stages to Limoges, where you 
will find a good diligence to take you to Chateauroux."" 

" Yery well. Where shall I spend the night?"" 

"At Chains. That is a large town, and you will find a 
very nice inn there. You will arrive there before dark, for 
though this man has very poor carriages, he has pretty 
good horses."" 

" Chains!"" repeated Coralie. " It seems to me that I do 
remember passing through a town of that name. Isn"t 
there an old chateau there?"" 

"From the walls of which Itichard, Cceur de Lion, was 
slain,"" said the young man, who was not sorry to have an 
opportunity to air his historical knowledge. 

Coralie cared very little about the. famous King of Eng- 
land, but was anxious to become familiar with all the par- 
ticulars of her intended journey. 

" And from Chains I go to Limoges?"" she asked. 

""^In a few hours, madame."" 

" And from Limoges, I can go by post to Chateauroux, 
and reach Paris day after to-morrow morning. As to the 
price you are to pay the stable-keeper, that is a matter of 
no consequence to me; and as you are so kind as to offer to 
make the necessary arrangements, I give you carte blanche, 
on condition that I leave immediately. "" 

" The carriage will be here in five minutes, madame, and 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 117 

you will only to have to step into it/’ replied the gentleman, 
rushing down the alley. 

Coralie was in ecstasies. She could leave this detestable 
town without delay, and this last adventure was d “‘''dly 
amusing. • 

At the expiration of the specified time, the young mr^j^ 
reappeared, leading a tolerably good-looking horse attached 
to a sort of four-wheeled cabriolet. 

The vehicle is not elegant,^'’ he remarked; but I know 
the horse. He can travel seven miles an hour easily, and 
if madame does not fear the cold — 

I am equipped for a journey across Siberia,'''' replied 
Mile. Bernache, pointing to the fur-lined mantle that en- 
veloped her, and to the heavy shawl upon her arm. 

But I don''t see the driver."" 

All the coachmen are out just now, but if you will 
allow me, I will drive you, madame."" 

You, sir! Why, I do not know you."" 

I am aware of that fact, madame, and I will take the 
liberty of introducing myself to you. My name is Martial 
Mouleydier; my family is, I am proud to say, one of the 
oldest and best known in Salviac, and I might refer you 
to the sub-prefect, who is one of my particular friends, for 
credentials as to my character and social position. "" 
^andeed?"" 

Yes, madame; I have the honor of seeing Monsieur 
Vignory almost every day — the honor and the pleasure — 
for he is a very agreeable man, and I greatly enjoy talking 
with him about the gay capital. "" 

Which he knows thoroughly, and you likewise, I pre- 
sume. "" 

No, madame; but I hope to go there soon."" 

Coralie felt a strong desire to laugh. This youth, who 
had never left his native town, seemed supremely ridiculous 
to her; and she was already thinking how much she would 
enjoy astonishing him by some highly exaggerated de- 
scriptions of Parisian life. At the same time, she thought 
it very comical to be escorted out of town by one of the 
particular friends of Charles Vignory, whom she held in 
only moderate esteem, since she had seen him in the exer- 
cise of his official duties. 

Sir,"" she said with a very dignified air, I am greatly 
obliged to you for your offer, but it is quite out of the 


118 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 

question. For me to travel alone with you is not to be 
thought of.'^^ 

"" You would have traveled alone with the coachman."' 

-Npit is very different. A coachman is only a coach- 
i^ffie o while you—" 

st^^I am, and shall remain the most respectful of your 
servants," replied Mouleydier, greatly flattered, but evi- 
dently very hopeful. I shall consider myself extremely 
fortunate if I can obtain your permission to drive you to 
Chains; and I sliall return to Salviac this evening, provided 
YOU have no further need of my services." 

Upon that condition I will accept your offer, sir," she 
answered, after a moment's hesitation. 

‘ ^ May I then venture to suggest that you step into the 
vehicle without delay. It is growing late, and I am anx- 
ious to get you to Ohalus before night; for it is likely to be 
very cold." 

81ie consented. He assisted her into the carriage, seated 
himself beside her, and after gathering up the reins in his 
loft hand, he struck the horse a stinging blow that sent 
him flying up the long street that extends the whole length 
of the town. 

Several petty merchants ran to the doors of their shops 
to see the vehicle dash by, but our friends escaped any em- 
bai-rassing meeting. 

One would think you were eloping with me," remarked 
Coralie, smiling. 

I wish that were indeed the case," rejoined the gallant 
Martial, enchanted at this beginning. 

I am a much more important and serious-minded per- 
son than you suppose," continued Mile. Bernache. 
came to Salviac charged with a political mission, and I am 
leaving only because this mission has proved futile." 

The minister sent you to Monsieur Vignory, probably. " 

''Yes; but, of course, I could not stay at the prefecture, 
so I accepted the hospitality of a relative, a lady, whose 
husband is keeper of the jail." 

"The beautiful Madame Marteau? Then Isuppose she 
pointed out to you the commissioner's assassin, a young 
man named Chancelade. It was I who effected his arrest. " 

On hearing this announcement, Coralie gave a violent 
- start, and for an instant felt strongly inclined to jump out 
of the carriage, rather than continue to travel in the com- 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


119 


pany of a man who had not oi^^ caused the arrest of the ^ 
handsome Ohancelade, but who Boasted of it. But she con- 
trolled herself, and soon resolved to profit by this oppor- 
tunity to secure some valuable information. 

^^What, sir!"’"’ she exclaimed, ‘'‘'it is to you that the gov- 
ernment is indebted for the capture of that brigand? He 
is said to be a very dangerous character, and you doubtless 
endangered you life in arresting him.^'^ 

should have imperiled it, of course, had that been 
necessary,'’^ said Mouleydier, straightening himself up, 
complacently; ^^but the arrest was very easily managed. 

I happened to be at the club when the commissioner was 
shot. The sub-prefect started out in pursuit of the mur- 
derer; I accompanied him, as it was my duty to do, since 
I have the honor to be an official — ^in the register's office. 
The man escaped us; but I had an idea that he must have 
taken refuge in his sister^s house, so I took Monsieur Vig- 
nory there, and we surprised the culprit just as he was en- 
tering the house. 

^‘'You deserve none the less credit, sir, and I do not 
doubt that the government will reward you for this bi-avo 
deed. I shall mention it to the minister. 

Ah, madame, if you would condescend to do that, my 
fortune would be assured, exclaimed young Mouleydier, 
artlessly. 

In the meantime, Coralie had been zealously racking her 
brain to discover what trick she could play upon her* 
companion to pay him for the dastardly act he had com- 
mitted. 

She heartily wished she might meet Chancelade and 
hand the traitor over to him, and ask him to thrash the 
scoundrel within an inch of his life; but not daring to hope 
for such a piece of good luck, she mentally resolved to do 
her worst. 

They were soon far beyond the town limits, and the 
cabriolet began to traverse a hilly and lonely road. 

In this part of Perigord, human habitations are rare; 
and the country wears an almost savage aspect which con- 
trasts strikingly with the highly cultivated banks of the 
Dordogne and the Vezere. 

The arrondissernent of Salviac is very like Brittany. 
There are chestnut-trees instead of oaks; but long stretches 
of heath abound, and even furze is not lacking. 


120 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 


Coralie paid little or no attention to this austere land- 
scape, however. She was plotting vengeance against Louis 
Chancelade's enemies, even including her former friend, 
Aurelie, who had so unwillingly aided in his escape. 

Yes,^^ she resumed, you have certainly won your 
spurs by the capture of this dangerous criminal. It is no 
fault of yours that he escaped last night. 

The report that was circulated through the town this 
morning is true, then? I did not believe it.^^ 

Quite true, unfortunately.^^ 

The deuce! Then the head- jailer is in a nice fix; and 
I am very much afraid that Monsieur Vignory will be great- 
ly blamed also, for the head- jailer is under his orders, and 
the prison must have been very poorly guarded. How did 
Chancelade manage to get out*?^^ 

^^ ITobody knows. While making the round between 
twelve and one oYlock, Monsieur Marteau found the pris- 
oner's cell empty. 

Some one must have opened the door for him, and we 
shall soon know who it was. Some of his political friends, 
jirobably. He will be recaptured unquestionably, for he 
has not had time to go far, and all the gendarmes will be 
sent out in pursuit of liim. They will scour the woods 
about Lesgiiillac, where he used to teach. 

^ Is that anywhere near where we are now 

No, madame. On the contrary, it is at the other end 
of the arrondissenient. Even if he has not taken refuge in 
that region, he will certainly be found. A description of 
him will be circulated everywhere, and his appearance 
alone would cause him to be regarded with suspicion. He 
has the face of a brigand. r 
- Eool!^^ muttered Coralie. ! 

I beg your j)ardon?^^ queried Mouleydier, who thought 
he had misunderstood her. 

Oh, nothing! I was thinking of that simpleton of a 
jailer who forgot to lock his doors. When do you expect 
to visit Paris, my dear sir?^^ 

*^^In about three months from now, I hope; and you 
have promised — 

To see you, and so I will. I can not introduce you to 
my husband — for I am a widow — but you will perhaps 
meet your dear friend, Vignory, at my house, for, entre 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 121 

OlOits, I very much fear that he will be recalled in conse- 
quence of this unfortunate alf air. 

^^Alas! too, am very much afraid that he will lose his 
place; and if that misfortune should befall him, I shall lose 
all chance of exceptional promotion, for he is my chief 
dependence. 

You will not lack protectors. I myself will find you 

one. 

If you do, madame, I swear that you will not find me 
ungrateful. I would be your slave for life, and would go 
through fire and water for you, if you wished it.""^ 

That would be asking too much,^^ said Coralie, laugh- 
ing. ^‘'Let us return , to the present. You did not ex- 
aggerate, in describing this horse. He goes along at light- 
ning speed, and we must have gone quite a long distance 
by this time.'’^ 

Hearly ten miles, and all the way uphill. When we 
reach the top of that long hill yonder, we shall have reached 
the highest point in oiu" journey, and all the rest of the 
ride to Chains will be down-hill. 

Your country is not particularly cheerful in its aspect, 
especially in the winter- time — nothing but snow, snow, 
everywhere, with a few- dwarfed and distorted trees, and 
clumps of shrubbery, but not a living being. 

It seems to me that it would be an easy matter for 
Chancelade to conceal himself in these solitary wilds. 

He would perish of cold — that is, unless he could bur- 
row like a fox. There are two- or three caves near the 
Eolling Rock, but the gendarmes know them, and they 
would smoke him out, like the wild beast that he is.^^ 
Coralie felt a strong desire to scratch the conceited young 
man^s eyes out, but she contented herself with inquiring, 
calmly: 

AVhat is the Rolling Rock?^^ 

One of the curiosities of the neighborhood — a large 
rock balanced upon another rock. It weighs, I know not 
how many tons, and 3^et a child can rock it to and fro. I 
will 2^oint it out to you as we pass. W^e can see it from the 
road. 

It must be very interesting.'^^ 

Yes, to strangers. I should greatly prefer to see the 
Boulevard des Italiens, or the annual masquerade ball at 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


123 

the opera-house, especially if you would condescend to ac- 
cept of my escort there.” 

“ I would do much better; I would reserve a seat for you 
in my box — ^where I receive only- my particular friends.” 

Oh, madame, you overpower me,” said Mouleydier, en- 
chanted at the prospect. 

“ We could talk about Salviac, and our drive in this ex- 
ceedingly primitive conveyance.” 

“ I shall never forget this delightful drive; I wish it could 
last forever.” 

“ I can’t say that I do. I am black and blue already.” 

Forgive my selfishness. I can think only of my great 
good fortune. But I fear that our little town has not im- 
pressed you very favorably.” 

“ Not particularly, I must admit, though I should not 
have minded spending a few days there, if I had not been 
called back to Paris. In fact, I should have been delighted 
to make the acquaintance of some of the fair ladies of Sal- 
viac. The sub-prefect intended'tb have given a reception 
for the purpose of introducing them to me.” 

'‘You would have seen no one to compare with you in 
beauty or elegance. ” 

“ That is an undeserved compliment, I am sure. Madame 
Marteau told me about a wonderfully beautiful young girl 
whose first name was Edmee, I believe.” 

"Yes, the sister of Chancelade, the commissioner’s mur- 
derer. ” 

"Is it possible?” 

" And the daughter of an old fanatic who played a prom- 
inent part in the December insurrection, and who has 
just been sent to Cayenne. She is pretty, it is true, but 
she is utterly destitute of style; and dresses like a common 
peasant. ” 

"Poor girl! she must be heart-broken to lose her father 
and her brother at the same time.” 

"You pity her!” 

"Yes. I must admit it. I think I shall even say a 
good word for her to the minister. I am sure he will do 
something for her.” 

"But she needs nothing. This Chancelade family, 
though by no means wealthy, is very comfortably off; and 
the government would do well to reserve its bounty for 


123 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 

more deserving persons, especially as tliis young girl shares 
the opinions of her relatives. -u -d + 

All the more reason for us to try to convert her. i3ut 
here we are at the top of the hill.^ Suppose we allow the 

horse to stop and rest a moment."^ 

It would he a very good plan, for he will go all the bet- 
ter for it afterward."" t 

Then if you wish to oblige me, you will go and gather 
me a bunch of those beautiful dried ^ grasses on that rock 
to the right of the road. I should like to take them home 
^with me, as a souvenir of Perigord and of our drive. 

These last words had hardly passed the lips of his fair 
comp^on before the delighted official sprang out of the 
vehicle»nd. hastened toward the rock indicated. 

I liM%ou now, young man!"" muttered Coralie. 

^^Notmlse, the best ones are up higher, still higher; 
she cried»eeing him pause to ciill a handful. 

As she ^oke she gathered up the reins which he had 
fastened about the whip-socket, and when she saw him 
reach the topmost point of the cliff, which her admirer 
found it even more difficult to descend than to climb, she 
seized the whip and brought it down with all her might 
upon the back of the steed, who started off at the top of his 
Sneed 

Don"t be afraid, madame; he will stop if you pull hard 
on the lines,"" cried Martial from the top of the cliff. 

^adiot!"" thought Coralie, '"he really thinks the horse 
is running away. See if he stops this side of ^ Chains. 
You"ll have to foot it home, old fellow! This will teach 
you a lesson. Denounce Louis Chancelade again,^^will 
you! I"d like to serve several others in the same way."" 

The horse had good blood in his veins, and he flew down 
the hill without making a single misstep. It is true, how- 
ever, that Coralie had strong arms, and she held her steed 
with a tight rein. 

The hill was nearly a mile long, but it was not necessary 
to go that distance to get beyond the reach of the unfortu- 
nate Mouleydier, who started off madly after the cabriolet 
with his bunch of grasses in his hand. 

There was quite a long stretch of level road at the foot 
of the hill, and the horse did not slacken his pace in tlie 
least, but flew swiftly along without the slightest urging. 

After about ten minutes of this rapid progress Coralie 


124 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


Bernache turned to look behind her^, and had tlie gratifica- 
tion of seeing that the gallant clerk appeared only a tiny 
black speck, far upon the hillside. 

She laughed heartily at the trick she had just played 
upon Louis Chancelade^s enemy, and likewise congratulated 
herself upon having found this clever way of leaving Sal- 
viac without any personas knowledge. Perhaps no one 
would ever know the route she had taken, for it was not 
very likely that the handsome Martial would tell his friends 
of his adventure. 

She took a malicious pleasure in imagining him plodding 
his way painfully homeward, and compelled to pay the 
stable-keeper the value of the missing horse and carriage, 
or at least to give him a sum of money to be held as se- 
curity until they were recovered. 

Ooralie had no intention of keeping or selling them, for 
she had had quite enough of this mode of conveyance, and 
she had plenty of ready money at her disposal. 

She said to herself: 

When I reach Chains I will hand this old rattle-trap 
oyer to the keeper of the inn, at which I stop, and give 
him two louis, on condition that he will send it back to 
Salviac by one of his stable-boys. To-morrow morning 
he can furnish me with another vehicle to take me to 
Limoges, and once there, I shall have no further trouble."'^ 

She did not ask herself if, in a still smaller town than 
Salviac, people would not be astonished to see a lone woman 
drive into town in this style; nor did she foresee the possi- 
bility of losing her way. A true Parisienne, who had seldom 
gone outside the city limits, she was convinced that all 
roads led to Pome; that the horse had only to go straight 
on to take her to Chains, and that she should soon see, 
piercing the horizon, the towers of the old chateau she had 
noticed on her way to Salviac. 

The country through which she was passing had changed 
in aspect, but had become still more desolate. Instead of 
low hills, crowned with chestnuts, she now saw on either 
side of the road only barren fields strewn with large gran- 
ite bowlders, which seemed to have been sown there by a 
giant^s hand. 

Some imaginative j)ersons might have taken them for dru- 
idical monuments, but Coralie, who had never even heard 
of the Druids, thought these piles of stbne very ugly. 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


125 


The lowering sky became more and more overcast. 
There was snow in the air, and while waiting for it to fall, 
the atmosphere grew still more chilly. Coralie had been 
obliged to take her hands out of her mnif in order to drive, 
and they soon began to ache with the cold. 

How much longer would it take her to reach the inn, 
where she expected to thaw her half-frozen fingers before a 
good fire, she had not the slightest idea. It seemed to her 
that .Mouleydier had said something about a drive of a few 
hours, and at least two hours had elapsed since her depart- 
ure from Salviac. But the sun sets early in January, and 
the prospect of being overtaken by darkness on the road 
was far from pleasant. What should she do.^ It was too 
late to beat a retreat now; besides, nothing in the world 
could have induced Coralie * to return to Salviac. How- 
ever, her heart did not yet fail her, and what troubled her 
most was a consciousness that her nose was growing red. 

She was considerably surprised, too, at the entire absence 
of vehicles and pedestrians. One would have supposed 
that the barren region was utterly uninhabited. In fact, 
there did not seem to be sufficient vegetation to sustain 
cattle, and water was as scarce as pasturage. 

To complete her discomfiture, the overdriven horse was 
beginning to show unmistakable signs of fatigue. He had 
slackened his pace considerably, and Coralie was now 
obliged to let him proceed at a slow trot. 

^^Ho matter!'’^ she said to console herself, ^^I am sure 
that simpleton can not overtake me, and even at this rate 
of speed I must soon reach my destination. When I come 
to the next hill, I will get out and walk a little way to 
warm myself, and when we reach the top Ifil give the 
horse a few minutes to breathe. He can certainly go four 
or five miles furtl^er; and even if he should give out when 
I reach there, I shall get off with the payment of four or 
five hundred francs. The animal certainly is not worth 
any more than that!^^ 

Unfortunately, the desired hill did not make its appear- 
ance; on the contrary, a level road stretched before her, as 
far as the eye could reach — a road edged on either side 
by stunted trees and granite rocks. 

What a country sighed Coralie. ^‘’I hope that idiot 
Vignory, tliat brute of a Marteau, and even Aurelie, who 
so impertinently attempted to lecture me this morning, 


126 THE PRETTY JAILER. 

will be obliged to stay here forever. As for that young 
simpleton I just left by the roadside, he was born here, 
and here he will end his days, though I hope he will lose 
his office, as well as the others. 

While she was thus giving vent to her ill-humor, the 
horse which had for some time been allowed perfect liberty 
of action, suddenly stopped short, and Coralie soon under- 
stood why. The road divided, and the animal did not 
know which direction to take. 

Coralie was equally at a loss. She was not very profi- 
cient in geography, and did not know whether Chains lay 
in an easterly or westerly direction. 

There was no guide-post, nor any person to whom she 
could apply for information, nor was there within sight 
any human habitation at which she could inquire. 

She was vainly endeavoring to decide which road she 
should take, when she saw a child^s head rise above a 
stone-wall that bordered the left side of the road. Soon 
his whole body became visible, and she perceived that the 
new-comer was a ragged peasant lad — a shepherd-boy, 
probably, though she saw no sign of any fiock. 

She called him, but he did not move a muscle, and, 
losing patience, she drove her horse up to the edge of the 
ditch, on the side of the road, and jumped out of the car- 
riage. 

The child did not run away, but he did not advance an 
inch, but remained perched upon the wall, and when 
Coralie called him again, he replied in ^patois that was 
utterly incomprehensible to her: 

Idiot she muttered, savagely. 

Then, controlling herself, she cried, in still louder tones: 

Which of these two roads must I take to reach Chains? 
If you will tell me, Vll give you twenty ^otis, ’’ 

The boy made signs that he did not understand her, 
though he had very bright and intelligent eyes. 

Coralie drew some silver coins from her pocket, and 
spread them out upon the palm of her gloved hand. This 
time the boy seemed to understand her. His eyes bright- 
ened, and he beckoned his questioner to approach. 

Coralie sprang over the ditch, firmly resolved to seize the 
boy by the ear, drag him to the intersection of the two 
roads, and point to them, repeating the word — Chains. 

The horse seemed too tired to run away, and, as he be- 


THE PKETTY JAILEE. 


127 


gan to nibble at the dried grass on the roadside, there did 
not seem to be the slightest danger in leaving him untied. 

The child retreated a little when he saw Coralie jump 
out of the vehicle. He seemed resolved not to come with- 
in her reach, and it would be useless to think of overtaking 
him if he attempted to run away; so, concluding that it 
would be best to try to conciliate him, Coralie said, chink- 
ing the silver she still held in her hand: : 

All this is yours, if you will show me my way.^^ ! 

The lad pointed to a pile of rock on the heath, about a 
hundred yards from the wall, on which Coralie had now 
climbed, and beckoned her to follow him. Thinking that 
behind these rocks there might be a road, she walked do- 
cilely in that direction, preceded by the child, who was 
dancing for joy. 

The ground sloped rapidly from the road-side, so Coralie 
soon lost sight of the cabriolet; but she did not fear that 
any one would appropriate it there, on that deserted road. 

The rocks were in several irregular piles, and the first 
which presented itself consisted of two immense rocks, 
placed one above the other. 

The child ran straight to it, and began to climb the top- 
most rock with wonderful agility. 

^^Good!"" Coralie said to herself; ^^one can probably see 
the church-tower of Chains from there, and he wishes to 
show it to me. These barbarians have strange ideas. He 
probably fancies that I, too, will climb up there. 

Her astonishment changed to stupefaction when she saw 
him begin to execute a sort of war-dance on the nearly 
level top of the upper rock, a war-dance that imparted a 
slow, but very perceptible swaying movement to the rock. 

Coralie was wondering why he should feel inclined to in- 
dulge in this singular exercise, when she suddenly recol- 
lected the information that Mouleydier had so kindly fur- 
nished in regard to the natural curiosities of the country. 

^^It is the rolling rock she murmured. ^^The little 
beggar thought I wanted to see it move, and that I was 
oftering him money to show it to me. He is less stupid 
than I supposed. I will pay him, in order to encourage 
him, and after that, he will certainly show me the road to 
Chains. 

So she called out to him: 

^'That is fine, very fine, my boy! It is almost 


as nice 


128 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


as the swings at the Saint-Cloud fair. Come down^ and 
let me giv'e you your money. 

As she suited the action to the word, the child sprung 
nimbly from the rock, and held out his hand. She poured 
the money into it, but he no sooner had it in his posses- 
sion, than he fled as fast as his legs could carry him, and 
without giving her time to say a single word. 

Encumbered with Avraps as she was, it was impossible for 
Coralie to pursue the little rascal Avith any chance of suc- 
cess. She called to him at the top of her voice, and held 
up a five-franc piece hastily taken from her purse, but 
without avail. The child did not even turn to look back, 
but ran swiftly on, and was soon out of sight. 

What a fool I Avas to give him the money exclaimed 
his victim. I might have known that he would desert 
me as soon as I paid him. Now, I shall not get another 
glimpse of him, and it is no laughing matter, for hoAv 1 
am going to get out of this dilemma I can not imagine. If 
I only knew Avhere I was! That simpleton, Mouleydier, 
promised to shoAv me the rolling rock, but he neglected to 
tell me the direction, in Avhich we Avere to go, after admir- 
ing it. He said something about some, caves in the neigli- 
borhood, but not a Avord about the road to Chains. 

Upon my word! I believe I Avill leave it to the horse. 
He knows the Avay, perhaps, and may take me Avhere I 
wish to go, and after all, if he makes a mistake, Ave shall 
be sure to bring up somewhere. 

She was about to return to the place Avhere she had 
left the cabriolet, when she suddenly recollected a remark 
made by young Mouleydier, who had said that the idea 
of concealing himself in the caves near the rolling rock, 
had perhaps occurred to Chancelade; and a strong desire 
to visit these caves before her dejoarture took possession of 
her. 

She loved romantic adventures, and her imagination was 
already at work. She imagined herself discovering the 
fugitive in the boAvels of the earth, and conducting him 
to the cabriolet, which wo^ld bear him far from this region, 
that would soon be scoured by the gendarmes. 

But she had left her shaAvl on the seat of the carriage, 
and she decided to get it before exploring this desolate and 
AAlnd-swept heath. 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


129 


She acccordingly retraced her steps^ but to her utter 

'dismay^, she failed to find the cabriolet. 

The horse, haviug recovered from his fatigue, had be- 
come tired of waiting, and had wisely concluded to return 
to his stable. Coralie could see him trotting along the 
road to Salviac, and he had already made so much prog- 
ress, that Mile. Bernache could not entertain the slightest 
hope of overtaking him on foot. 

This time her situation was truly appalling. Young 
Mouleydier was amply avenged. What would become of 
her in this solitude, and how was she to make her way out 
of it, without a guide, and without some means of trans- 
portation? To complete her misery, the near approach of 
night was already increasing the cold of this cloudy Janu- 
ary day. To spend the night out of doors was to expose 
one's self to almost certain death; she would be found 
frozen in the morning, like a soldier on the retreat from 
Moscow — and she had not the strength to wander on until . 
she happened to find a house. 

Finally, she thought of the wonderful caves, and said to 
herself that she might at least find shelter there. It would 
oertainly be better to sleep upon the ground than upon the 
snow, and every one knows that caves, though cold in sum- 
mer, are always warm in winter. But it was first neces- 
sary to ascertain that these caves really existed, and that M. 
Mouleydier had not exaggerated their dimensions, for she 
had rather strong doubts of her informant's veracity. 

She accordingly returned to the Eolling Eock, and mak- 
ing this the starting point, she began to carefully explore 
its surroundings. 

At first, she saw only an irregular mass of granite whose 
base presented no opening whatever. 

This extended down a gentle slope leading to a brook 
which was now covered with a thin coating of ice, and she 
•started to make the descent, though very slowly and cau- 
tiously, for it was difficult for her to maintain her footing 
on the slippery surface. 

A short distance down the stream, she found what she 
was seekings — a large fissure at the base of an enormous 
rock, wide enough and high enough for a man of medium 
stature to pass through, without stooping. 

The much-needed refuge was found. The next thing to 

5 


130 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


be done was to enter it^ and though Ooralie was no cow* 
ard^ her heart began to fail her. 

Not that she feared she would find herself in a nest of 
brigands; but it seemed to her that this gloomy cleft in 
the rock must be full of snakes and bats, and she shud- 
dered at the mere thought of finding herself in contact 
with these loathsome creatures. 

The darkness also frightened her, and she would gladly 
have given twenty-five louis for a box of matches and one 
of the carriage lamps. 

It was necessary to come to a decision, however. She was 
chilled to the bone, and she could not have borne the pierc- 
ing wind that had just risen ten minutes longer; so, sum- 
moning all her courage, she stepped into the cave. She 
had scarcely done so when she found herself in utter dark- 
ness, for near its mouth there was a sudden turn in the 
passageway that intercepted the light, and the wind as 
well, which was certainly some comfort. 

It was impossible to find her way through this subter- 
ranean passage except by the sense of touch, but as she 
cautiously advanced, step by step, she discovered that the 
passageway was gradually becoming wider, though she 
could still touch the ceiling by raising her hand above her 
head. 

The ground beneath her feet was smooth and firm. 

My bed will not be very soft,"’"’ she thought; ^^but I 
shall like it much better than the damp snow. 

As she continued her advance, she became conscious of 
a strange odor — a penetrating smoke that filled her throaty 
and yet, there certainly was no fire in the cave, for any 
person who was imprudent enough to light one would in- 
evitably be suffocated. 

This strange discovery alarmed her, and she was about to 
retrace her steps, when she was seized with a sudden fit of 
coughing that awakened all the echoes in the grotto. 

^^Who goes there inquired a strong and sonorous 
voice. 

A friend,^^ replied Coralie, who was now reduced to a 
state of abject despair and terror. 

There was no answer, but a powerful hand seized the 
arm of the adventurous lady, who suddenly perceived a red 
spark gleaming only a few inches from her face. This red 
Spark suddenly b<^ame brighter; then came a puff of smoke 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 131 

that nearly suffocated poor Coralie, who closed her eyes^ 
hut opened them again ^ as these words fell upon her ear: 

^^Yoih madame^ hereT^ 

This time^ she recognized the grave tones of Louis 
Chancelade^ and comprehended that he had just recognized 
her by the light of his pipe which he had quickened to a 
flame by a few vigorous puffs. 

Her courage instantly returned^ and she had the pres- 
ence of mind to reply: 

I was looking for you.-^^ 

^^But how did you know that I was here?^^ rejoined the 
fugitive^ almost brusquely. 

I will tell you how I knew presently; but firsts let me 
rest. I can endure no more/^ she said^ faintly. 

Chancelade passed his arm around her trembling form^ 
seated her upon a projection in the rock a short distance 
off, and remained standing near her. 

She was greatly overcome, but she soon recovered her 
composure, and began to give him an account of the strange 
adventures that had befallen her since his escape from the 
prison and her meeting with Martial Mouleydier. 

Chancelade listened in silence, but when she uttered 
that name, he could not refrain from interrupting her. 

What!^^ said he, ^^you know that scoundrel 

I did not know him,^^ murmured Ooralie, but he in- 
troduced himself to me, and told me who he was. He 
dared to boast to me of having caused your arrest. I felt 
like strangling him. I did my best to get even with him, 
however. 

She then related how she had left him upon the road, 
and explained the unfortunate consequences which had 
resulted from that piece of malice on her part. 

Was it he who told you where you would find the en- 
trance to this grotto inquired Chancelade. 

^^No; he spoke of the cave, and said it was quite proba- 
ble that the idea of taking refuge here would occur to you, 
but I scarcely hoped to find you here. I bless the lucky 
chance that brought me to the grotto, however, for I can 
assist you in making your escape. If that miserable old 
horse hadnT gone back to Salviac you could have got into 
the carriage with me, and we might have been in Chains 
this evening — 


132 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


Where I should certainly have been arrested. I am 
known there. It is not in that direction I wish to go."^^ 

May I venture to ask what you do intend to do?^^ 

I have no desire to conceal anything from you^ madame,- 
Last nighty when Monsieur de Mussidan opened the door of 
my celh I told him in your presence that I should take* 
refuge in the forest of.Valade, but I changed my mind^ and 
went in the opposite direction, I reached, this cave before- 
sunrise^ and remained here to wait for the coming of night.. 
The gendarmes must be searching for me, and I could not 
escape them in daylight. I had decided to resume my 
journey this evening. A few miles from here I have a 
trusty friend, a farmer, who would receive me with open 
arms, procure me other clothing, and take me in his own 
wagon to Angouleme, where I could take the diligence for 
Paris. 

There is nothing to prevent you from carrying this very- 
excellent plan into execution, it seems to me. 

But I can not leave you here.""^ 

I trust that you will take me with you. You prom- 
ised to come and see me in Paris. We shall reach that city 
together. 

No, madame. I should do you a very great injury, for 
if the fact ever became known you would b^e regarded with 
suspicion. But if you feel that you have the strength for 
a three hours^ tramp through the woods, I will take you to 
the house of the friend of whom I just spoke. 

‘^^And leave me there exclaimed Coralie. 

Only until my friend^s return. The carriage that will- 
take me to Angouleme to-night can take you there to- 
morrow morning. 

^^Ido not like the idea of being left behind, replied 
Coralie; but your safety is the first thing to be considered,, 
so I submit.-’^ 

am ready to start at once. Now I have found you,, 
my fatigue seems to have vanished. 

^^It is too early, madame, rejolied Chancelade. We 
must wait until nightfall; and if you would like to sleep 
awhile, I can make you a very comfortable couch of 
leaves. 

I am not at all sleepy; I would much rather talk with 
you. Put away your pipe — it makes me cough — and take 
a seat here beside me."’’’ 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


133 


Cliancelacle instantly removed the obnoxious pipe from 
his mouth, but he remained standing; and Coralie, though 
firmly resolved to make a conquest of him later, had the 
tact not to press the invitation. 

^^Do you know what occurred at. the prison after your 
departure she continued. 

I was just going to ask you,^^ replied Chancelade. As 
i reached the end of the narrow street that separates the 
court-house from the prison I heard a shot fired. I thought 
at first that my absence had been discovered; and that the 
keepers were in pursuit of me. I supposed the bullet was 
intended for me, and that it would be followed by several 
others; so the idea of changing my plans occurred to me,, 
and instead of making for the forest of Yalade I turned 
to the right and took the road to Bussiere — the same 
which you have followed, and which also leads to Angou- 
leme by way of Marthon, as well as to Limoge via Chains. 
The road divides only a short distance from here.^^ 

It was at that point I stopped, not knowing which road 
to take. Even a misfortune has its benefits, it would seem;, 
for had it not been for the embarrassing position in which 
I was placed, I should not have sought a shelter in this 
cave.^'’ 

So you met with no accident on the way?^^ 

Not the slightest. They did not even pursue me any 
further.-’^ 

And for the best of reasons. It was not at you that 
they fired 

At whom were they firing, then?^^ 

At a man who had scaled the roof of the prison, and 
who was discovered hy one of the jailers. 

Was he killed 

^^No; for he succeeded in making his escape. But he 
must have been wounded, for blood-stains were distinctly 
visible at the foot of the wall. Who was it? Nobody has 
the slightest idea.'^^ 

I know. It was my best friend — the only one who has 
remained faithful to me in my adversity. He risked his 
life in his attempt to rescue me, for he too is under the 
ban; and had he been captured, the very least that could 
happen to him is transportation for life.'’'’ 

But in case he has escaped them, where is he hiding 

^^In the same forest in which I intended to take refuge. 


134 THE PRETTY JAILER. 

^^Poor fellow! if he is wounded^ as I fear he is^ he will 
perish of cold and hunger."^ 

^^That is true;, and I thank you^ madame, for remind- 
ing me that duty will not allow me to desert him. I shall 
not go to Paris. 

What! Recollect that you can not save him, and that 
you will be almost certain to be captured yourself. The 
scoundrel who denounced you, told me just now that the 
gendarmes are searching the forest of Valade.^^ 

^^They will not find Jacques. The cave where he is 
hiding is almost inaccessible, and I am the only person who 
knows the way to it. I will start to join him this very 
night. 

• And what is to become of me?^^ 

I will guide you to the hamlet of Puyrazeau. The sun 
Bets now at five o^clock. We can start from here by half 
past five and reach my friend^s house before nine o^clock. 
You can spend the night there, and to-morrow he will 
take you to Angouleme. I shall remain there only long 
enough to explain what I desire of him. I shall then re- 
trace my steps, and, by taking a cross road, I can not only 
avoid passing through Salviac, but reach the forest of Va- 
lade before morning. 

You are really indefatigable,^^ mmmured Coralie. 

Her admiration for the mental and physical attributes of 
this handsome young man was rapidly increasing, and had 
it been daylight he would have read this fact in her eyes; 
but the darkness deprived Ooralie of this means of beguile- 
ment. She did manage to find his hand, however, and 
pressing it- fervently, she said in a voice that trembled with 
emotion : 

You are the bravest and most generous of men. I will 
do whatever you say. Whatever the sacrifice may cost me, 

I will return to Paris without you, and endure uncomplain- 
ingly the cruel anxiety I must feel until I see you again. 
But this suspense will be less intolerable if you will let me 
hear from you occasionally.^^ 

Unfortunately, in the forest of Valade I shall have no 
pen, ink, paper, or post-office at my disposal; but I hope I 
shall not be obliged to remain there long.'^^ 

' ^^How will you manage to leave it?^^ 

It will be much easier to get out of it than to get into 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


135 


it — that is, unless poor Jacques is unable to walk, and in 
that case I shall remain with him until his wound is healed. 

But what if he should die?'’^ 

Then my one thought will be to avenge him.'’'’ 

At the peril of your life. You would risk your head, 
and this time you would not succeed in making your es- 
cape. If you have no consideration for me, think of your 
sister. 

Who told you that I had a sister?"^ asked Chancelade, 
alomost • roughly. 

My friend, Madame Marteau, who has often spoken in 
the most enthusiastic tones of mademoiselle's beauty and 
virtue. 

She can know of it only by hearsay. She is not even 
acquainted with her.-’ ^ 

She met her yesterday in the street, and offered to assist 
her in any way in her power. 

^^My sister needs the assistance of no one, above all not 
of our jailer^s wife. 

^^It was through Madame Marteau^s intercession that 
your sister was able to send you the linen and clothing you 
received yesterday. Monsieur Marteau objected strongly 
at first. 

He would have showed wisdom in examining the 
articles, for I found sowed into the lining of the vest a 
note in which my sister warned me that a friend would 
doubtless attempt to set me at liberty that very night, per- 
haps though she had done everything in her power to pre- 
vent it.-’^ 

‘'^Then confess that it is to my friend you are in- 
debted for your escape. If you had been obliged to take 
the time to dress, when Monsieur de Mussidan opened the 
door of your cell, we should have been surprised by the 
head keeper. 

Monsieur de Mussidan repeated Chancelade,.bitterly, 

that handsome nobleman is not treated very rigorously, 
and yet, it was he who induced my father to take u]! arms 
against the government. 

I believe that he is subject to the same rules as the 
other prisoners, but — I may certainly venture to say this to 
you — Madame Marteau has taken a great fancy to him.'’^ 

Then whv didnT she allow him to escape instead of 
me?^^ 


136 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


He did not wish 

Because he is sure of being released^ eventually. Clem- 
ency is shown only to persons of rank, while I, who took no 
part whatever in the insurrection, am accused of an atro- 
cious crime. 

Which you did not commit, I am sure.-^^ 

^^Xo, certainly not. I hated the man who was killed, 
but his assassination filled me with horror.;’^ 

I believe you, sir, and I wonder how suspicion [could 
' have fallen upon you. 

It would take too long to explain, said Chancelade, 
rather dryly. It is growing late, and I had better go out 
and see if it isn^t almost dark. 

^‘^Not without me, I beg. Don^t leave me alone in this 
gloomy cave. I should die of fear.^^ 

So be it. Are you ready for your tramp, if if is time 
ior us to start 

I am ready to go anywhere, and brave anything, pro- 
vided you lead the way.-"^ 

Then, come, madame. Give me your hand.*’^ 

Coralie needed no urging. Chancelade walked on ahead, 
and she followed him closely. 

They soon reached the mouth of the cave, and found that 
the daylight was beginning to wane, though it was not yet 
dark. 

It was the gray, cheerless twilight of winter they saw 
around them, rendered still more gloomy by a fine snow 
that was just beginning to fall. 

At a distance of thirty yards the rocks were but dimly 
visible, and the trees on the other side formed one confused 
mass. 

"‘'It is useless to wait any longer, said Chancelade. 
"[^The sooner we start, the sooner we shall reach Puyrazeau. 
You will have all the more time to rest there, and I can 
resume my journey as soon as I have seen you safe under 
my friend Yassou^s roof.^^ 

"" Come, then,^^ said Coralie, bravely, adjusting her fur- 
lined cloak. 

Chancelade motioned her not to move until he had satis- 
fied himself that there was no one in sight, then he returned 
to her side, and assisted her to descend the hill and cross 
the frozen stream at its base, after which they started uj) a 
rocky path that led to the top of the opposite hill. 


THE PRETTY JAILER, 


137 


It was not quite so cold now that the snow had begun ta 
fall^ but the keen north wind cut their faces and made 
them bow their heads. Fortunately, the moon, which was 
in its last quarter, had not yet set, and the slender crescent 
that remained still diffused a little light. 

Coralie had already made several mis-steps, but she did 
not complain, and Ohan'celade took pity on her and lent her 
the support of his arm. 

No urging was required to induce her to accept it, and 
they advanced more slowly, but much more surely. 

She was beginning to regret the promise she had made 
to tramp three hours over such roads, and to ask herself if 
she would have strength to hold out until the end, but her 
courage did not fail her, and she felt proud of her position 
as companion to a hero. 

She saw that he was not in the least inclined to be senti- 
mental, and that she would have no little difficulty in mak- 
ing a conquest of this iron nature, but difficulties always 
stimulated her to greater exertions. 

^^^He shall be compelled to admire my courage,^^ she 
said to herself; will show him that I am not one of 
those frail Parisiennes who can not walk a quarter of a 
mile. When he sees what I am capable of, he will cease 
to distrust me; and when we are once at his friend^s 
house, I will entreat him not to start off in the middle 
of the night, and shall probably succeed in persuading 
him to accompany me to Paris. 

The main thing was to reach this hamlet of Puy- 
razeau, and it certainly was not very easy of access to 
judge by the difficulties that attended the beginning of 
the journey. 

The path they were following grew more and more 
narrow, and soon it became impossible for them to walk 
abreast; consequently it was necessary for Coralie to let 
go her companion's sustaining arm, and stumble along 
over the stones as best she could. 

Louis Chancelade held in his hand a stout stick he had 
cut for a weapon of defense. It was too heavy for Cor- 
ahe, but he cut another that was longer and lighter, and 
gave it to his companion, advising her to use it as a staff. 

She was a little awkward with it at first, but he showed 
her how to use it, and after that she got on more com- 
fortably. 


138 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 


need only a gourd, and a broad-brimmed hat to 
transform me into a pilgrim/^ she said, gayly. ^^My Paris 
friends would laugh heartily if they could see me now.-^^ 
But they would not have the spirit and energy to do 
what you are doing, ^ rejoined Louis, 
could not do it but for you.'^'^ 

Chancelade took no notice of this remark. In fact, he 
even requested her to talk as little as possible, but to save 
her strength for the severe climb that was before her. 

Coralie felt that he was right, and after this maintained 
perfect silence. 

They were more than a half hour in reaching the plateau 
that crowned the hill. 

Best here for a few moments, madame,^^ said Chan- 
celade. The worst is over. Our way leads over level 
ground, now.^^ 

Time to take breath, only,^^ replied Coralie, bravely, 
do not feel at all fatigued. 

They had reached the edge of an undulating plain whose 
horizon was bounded by a dense black wall. 

^^That is a fine forest,^'’ remarked Chancelade, ^^and 
when we have passed it, we shall be only about three hun- 
dred yards from the farm-house to which we are going. 
Why, this walk is a mere trifle!"^ exclaimed Coralie. 

I am surprised that you did not push on to the farm- 
house last night, instead of stopping in that cave, where 
the gendarmes might have surrounded and arrested you.-^^ 
It is further than you suppose, madame. If it were 
daylight, you could judge better of the distance; besides, I 
should have reached my friend^s house between three and 
four o^clock in the morning, and he might have refused 
to admit a wayfarer, while this evening we shall find him 
comfortably seated in his chimney-corner. 

What will he say when he sees me?^^ 

K^othing. Nassou is too thoroughly devoted to me to 
be inquisitive. He will think only of getting me out of 
my difficulties.^^ 

^^You are fortunate, indeed, to have such a friend. 
Madame Marteau, whom I have^ known for ten years, almost 
ordered me out of her house this morning, and Heaven 
knows that I did her many a favor in days gone by. Even 
now, I had to say but a single word to ruin her.-^^ 

Chancelade obstinately refused to jump at the bait Mile. 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 139 

Bernaclie held out to him, and contented himself with 
saying quietly: 

Madame, I think it would he well to resume our journey. 
It has stopped snowing now. We had better take advan-' 
tage of the rift in the clouds, especially as there are strong 
indications of an approaching gale, and we must try to 
reach our destination before it hursts upon us.-"^ 

Forward!'"’ exclaimed Coralie, courageously. They 
hastened on. 

All went well for about an hour, though poor Coralie 
suffered terribly from the cold. Moreover, she was not 
properly shod for a long tramp like this. Her dainty 
high-heeled shoes were fit only to tread the asphalt of the 
Boulevard de la Madeliene or the Champs Elysees. Upon 
this rough ground her high heels twisted and turned, 
wrenching her ankles at almost every step, and Chancelade 
was obliged to slacken his pace very considerably, in order 
not to get too far in advance of her. Moreover, in cer- 
tain places where the snow had drifted, they both sunk 
into it midway to the waist, and had no little difficulty^ 
in fioundering out. 

And all the while the belt of forest in front of them 
seemed to retreat in proportion as they advanced. 

Coralie was now sustained by pride alone, and she eagerly 
sought some excuse to stop and rest. 

Your friend has a peculiar name," she remarked, 
supporting herself with both hands by the staff she had 
not strength to carry. Hasson! Who ever heard of a 
person named Hasson?" 

In Limousin ])atois it is the synonym and diminutive 
of Jean," replied Chancelade, who had also paused, out of 
consideration for his companion's weakness. 

We are in Limousin, then?" 

AVe are entering it. Puyrazeau is on the boundary-line 
between the two departments." 

And what kind of a man is thi^ farmer?" 

A very worthy man, who lives quietly on his little farm, 
with his wife. He will receive us cordially, and you will 
be perfectly safe at their house. We are not far from it 
now. Shall we resume our tramp?" 

Certainly, sir. I am not tired." 

Coralie was telling a most outrageous falsehojd, for she 
was nearly exhausted; but she made a supreme effort, 


140 THE PRETTY JAILER. 

and after a long and painful walk they reached the edge 
of the woods. 

It will only take us about twenty minutes to go the rest 
of the way/"^ said Chancelade; and if you will take my ad- 
vice, we will not tarry here. If you allow your limbs to 
rest, they will refuse to serve you, and you can not start 
again; besides, the trees will protect you from the snow 
that is beginning to fall again. 

Coralie^s strong will and courage had sustained her fail- 
ing strength for some time, but a moment soon came when 
mental energy could no longer conquer physical prostra- 
tion. She did manage to traverse the belt of woodland, 
supported by Chancelade, but she was obliged to really 
drag herself along, and when they reached the other side, 
her head drooped upon the shoulder of her guide, and she 
murmured faintly: 

I am sleepy. I must sleep 

Louis saw that she was overcome by the cold. In his 
€hildhood he had heard it said that in Russia, during the 
campaign of 1812, soldiers who yielded to sleep never woke 
.again, and he resolved not to allow this fair Parisienne to 
succumb to the stupor that was creeping over her. 

He spoke to her sternly; he even shook her, but without 
success. He could not rouse her from the torpid state into 
which she had fallen. 

If he left her, even for a short time, death would cer- 
tainly be her fate; and if he saved her, it would have to 
be by his own exertions, for he could expect no aid from 
any one. 

There was nothing for him to do but to pick Coralie up, 
and carry her to the farm-house whose lights he could now 
see gleaming in the distance. 

And he did so, unhesitatingly. 

Coralie half opened her eyes, passed her arm around 
Chancelade^s neck, murmured a few words that he failed 
to catch, and again sunk into the heavy slumber that seemed 
so like death. 

She was not very heavy, but her weight was quite suf- 
ficient to greatly retard the progress of a weary man, and 
it took him some time to reach the farm-house. 

He did'reach it at last, however, and as he passed the 
windows, he saw Nassou and his good wife sitting in front 
of the hearth upon which a bright fire was blazing. The 


THE PEETTY JAILEK. 


141 


woman was knitting; her husband was smoking his pipe 
and cleaning an old rifle. They were alone, and they both 
sprung quickly to their feet at Chancelade^s unceremonious 
entrance. 

What! is it you?'' exclaimed the husband. I was in 
Salviac day before yesterday, and heard that you were in 
prison. " 

"" I escaped last night with the assistance of this lady I 
am carrying. She must be put to bed, and every effort 
made to revive her." 

""Lay her upon our bed. Monsieur Louis," said Mine. 
Nassou. ""There, poor dear lady. Why, she is nearly 
frozen! I will go and warm some wine for her. That will 
bring her around all right. " 

""I intrust her to your care, my good Catherine. You, 
my friend," he added, turning to Nassou, ""will certainly 
do me the favor to take her as far as Angouleme to-mor- 
row, in your wagon." 

"" Certainly. Will you accompany us?" 

^ ""Oh, the gendarmes are out in search of me, and 
if they should meet me, they would take me back to 
prison." 

""In that case, you had better remain here. We can see 
the gendarmes a long way off, and I defy them to find the 
cave in which I will hide you." 

"" Impossible! I must.be in the forest of Valade before 
morning. " 

"" Seven leagues from here! You can not do it." 

""Oh, yes. It is barely nine o'clock now; I can easily 
reach the forest before day-break. " 

"" What are you going to do there?" 

"" I want to see how my friend Jacques is getting on. 
He tried to provide me with a means of escape, and while 
doing so, he was fired at from the prison-yard. He must 
have been wounded, but if he is able to be upon his feet I 
intend to return here with him." 

""Is it true that you killed the commissioner?" 

^ ""jSTo. I swear it, by the life of my father, and I hope 
that they will eventually discover the real assassin. But I 
would rather blow my brains out than be taken back to 
prison. When I see you again I will explain how it all 
happened. In the meantime, you must tell this lady as 
-soon as she is restored to consciousness, that I have taken 


142 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


my departure. I warned her that I should leave her in 
your charge. ' I have not time to explain where she came 
from, nor do I know much about her, but you can take her to 
Angouleme without the slightest danger. She was not im- 
plicated in any of the late disturbances in Salviac; besides, 
she will tell you all about herself if you ask her. Now I 
going. All revoir ! I may be back to-morrow 

After these brief explanations, Chancelade departed, 
leaving Nassou and wife in a state of complete bewilder- 
ment. 

Coralie was still sleeping. 


OHAPTEE VI. 

The Saturday that followed the eventful one we have 
described, did not resemble it in the least. 

It was market-day in Salviac, and though but a week 
had elapsed since the murder of the commissioner, the town 
had regained its wonted aspect. 

The club-house was as full as usual. A game of 5^- 
sique was going on in the same room in which M. San- 
telli had fallen, and the tragical event that had upset 
the arrondissement was no longer talked of. 

The state of affairs was unchanged, however. The gen- 
darmes had scoured the surrounding country, but had not 
succeeded in recapturing Louis Chancelade. 

His sister Edmee, who was closely watched, never left 
her home, and her conduct was such as to dispel all sus- 
picion of complicity with the fugitive. She received occa- 
sional calls from her neighbor, M. Braconne, who was to 
have defended her brother before the court of assizes, but 
M. Braconne was not a suspicious character by any means. 

Her father was at Toulon, waiting to embark for Cay- 
enne, and the persons who had attacked the escort on the 
road to Perigueux, were still unknown. 

Adhemar de Mussidan was still an inmate of prison, 
where he led much the same life except that he was de- 
prived of the fair Aurelie^s visits, the chief jailer having 
secured all the cell doors with enormous padlocks after the 
escape of Louis. 

Coralie^s sudden departure had created very little com- 
motion. The residents scarcely knew by sight this stranger, 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


143 


■who had appeared only to disappear; and young Mouley- 
dier had felt no inclination to boast of his adventure. ISTor 
was he obliged to indemnify the stable-keeper, for the 
horse had returned home bringing the empty cabriolet with 
him, and his owner had promised to say nothing about the 
affair. 

The new government seemed to be firmly established, 
and counted many strong adherents in the land. Its op- 
ponents were disarmed. Political excitement seemed to be 
abating, and everything indicated a speedy return to the 
usual tranquil state of things. 

^ The authorities of the town were the only uneasy ones. 
They were more furious than ever about Louis Chancel- 
ade^s disappearance. The government-attorney^s assistant 
was especially bitter, and even talked of conducting the 
■search in person, and of hunting down these fugitives like 
so many Avolves. ^ His chief, more composed than he, con- 
tented himself with inditing reports against the head-jailer, 
the lieutenant of gendarmes^ and even against the sub- 
prefect, who was no favorite with him. 

That functionary was positively shaking in his shoes. He 
scarcely dared to leave the prefecture for fear that some 
one might ask him an embarrassing question in regard to 
the beautiful stranger who had entered the town with such 
a fiourish of trumpets; and every morning he opened his 
newspapers and letters in fear and trembling, for he ex- 
pected to see a notice of his recall. 

IJp to the present time the Moniteur,'' the official jour- 
nal, had made no allusion to it, and Vignory had received 
only a brief and mocking note from Coralie, announcing her 
return to Paris, and advising him to tender his resignation 
without delay; nor had she denied herself the mischievous 
pleasure of adding that she should not regret his recall, for 
Salviac was a miserable hole, in which she never wanted to 
set foot again. 

But the anxiety that beset Charles Vignory was nothing 
in comparison with that which tormented the Marteaus. 
The husband accused his wife of having aided in the 
escape of the prisoner by putting him in possession of the 
clothing in which Edniee probably concealed a message 
that prepared her brother for the opportunity to escape that 
was about to be afforded him. 

Aurelie retorted by reproaching him for his negligence. 


144 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


and prophesying that he would certainly lose his place 
and Pierre Marteau was secretly beginning to wonder if it 
was not his wife who had opened the prison door for Louis 
Chancelade. He was by no means certain of it^ howeveiv 
and until he had proofs to the contrary^ he preferred to> 
believe that this mysterious escape was the work of the 
pretended cousin from Lyons^ whose relationship to his 
wife seemed to him more and more doubtful. 

Aurelie secretly vowed vengeance upon this spurious 
cousin, who had—unintentionally, it is true— put an end to^ 
her pleasant visits to the baron, and bitterly reproached 
herself for having sheltered her merely to oblige Vignory, 
who was no longer in a position to be of use to them, as 
he was about to be recalled. 

The husLand and wife, unknown to each other, had 
both written to General Plancoet, entreating him to avert 
the danger that threatened them, but neither of them had 
received any reply. 

The town authorities evinced no intention of disturbing' 
them, however. The headpiece displayed redoubled zeal 
in the prominence of his functions, and avenged Chancel- 
ade'^s flight upon the prisoner that remained in his custody. 
He intercepted the count’s letters now, and had conflscated 
the famous accordion that had cheered Adhemar^s leisure 
hours. That nobleman still managed to communicate by 
signs with his jailer ^s fair wife, who informed him that 
Chancelade had not been recaptured, and that was all he 
cared to know. 

He cheerfully waited, smoking the remnant of his stock 
of cigars, until the great personages in Paris should decide 
his fate, firmly convinced, however, that he would be re- - 
leased one of these days. 

And he had some grounds for counting upon this fortu- 
nate denoiiement, for the days of severity were past, and 
those in high places were anxious to efface all remembrance 
of the late insurrections. 

The Count de Sigoules viewed the matter in much the 
sanie light as his cousin, but after no little hesitation he 
decided to take a step that cost him a severe struggle. 

He wrote to General de Plancoet reminding him of the 
friendship that had once existed between them, and beg- 
ging him to exert his influence in favor of the count’s rel- 
ative. The general promiitly replied that he would imme- 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 


145r 


cliately request an order for the Baron de Mussidan^s 
release^ and that he had strong hopes of obtaining it, as 
the President-prince was anxious to show all possible 
clemency to those who had taken part in the insurrection,, 
and even to win them over to his side by and by. 

^ The aged nobleman, reassured by this letter, had de~ 
cided to spend Saturday in Salviac as usual, not so much 
to play his game of whist with his usual partners as to hear 
what had occurred there during the week. 

He also intended to call on Edmee Chancelade; and he 
was the more anxious to show her this mark of interest 
from the fact that he had expressed the utmost horror of 
the commissioner's assassin to the geiidctvfiies who were in 
pursuit of the fugitive. 

At twelve o^clock precisely the well-known tilbury drew 
up in front of the inn. The count alighted from it, sent 
his horse to the stable and started off in the direction of 
the Chancelade mansion. 

He had breakfasted before leaving home and he intended 
to return there before night, so he had only time to pay 
his call and afterward have a chat with his friends at the 
club. 

The streets of the little town being crowded with carts 
and cattle, the majority of the citizens remained at home 
on market day, so the count met but few of his town ac- 
quaintances; but the peasants bowed to him deferentially 
and he returned their salutes, but he did not stop as usual 
to inquire if beef was bringing a good price. 

It had been many years since he visited his tenant's home,, 
but he had not forgotten the way to the old house to which 
his mother had sometimes taken him in his childhood, for 
the Chancelades had tilled the lands of the Sigoules for 
mere than a hundred years. He recollected having played 
more than once in the hanging garden, with the father of 
Louis and Edmee, the exile, who was not far from his own 
age, and he felt most kindly disposed toward the children 
of the worthy man though he had not been able to protect 
him from the wrath of the government. 

He resolved to have a long and friendly talk with the 
young girl, who certainly would not refuse to give him a 
frank statement of her brother's case; and it was his inten- 
tion, when once fully informed on the subject, to intercede 
foi the fugitive and to endeavor to put a stop to the search 


146 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


for him — that is^ if the sister should succeed in convincing 
Mm of her hrother^’s innocence. 

Gen. de Plancoet was a very powerful man, and the 
influence he had kindly promised to exert in the baron^s 
behalf would certainly be sufficiently potent to get a poor 
school-master, who was unjustly accused, out of his difficul- 
ties. So M. de Sigoules sallied forth, full of good inten- 
tions, and on reaching Edmee^s house he announced his 
arrival with a resounding knock. 

He was kept waiting some time : so long, in fact, that he 
was beginning to think that Mile. Ohancelade must have 
gone out when she cautiously opened the door. 

You here, sir she exclaimed, still holding the door 
only half-way open, however. did not expect to see 
you.^^ 

^^And why, my dear child inquired M. de Sigoules, 
almost affectionately. 

Because you said that, even if my brother should come 
to you for shelter, you would not admit him to the cha- 
teau, replied Edmee, coldly. I thought you had taken 
sides against him.^^ 

The lieutenant misunderstood me. I only told him 
my doors were closed against the commissioner's assassin— 
which is a very different thing, for I feel sure that your 
brother had nothing whatever to do with the affair. I 
hope, too, that you are not going to close your doors against 
me,^^ added the old nobleman, smiling. I have many 
things to say to you, and this is not a very comfortable 
place for a prolonged conversation.^^ 

^^Come in, sir,^^ said the young girl, opening the door, 
and standing aside to let the count pass. 

There has been no change here since my first visit to 
this house, sixty years ago,^^ continued the visitor. I am 
sure I should recognize every article of furniture in 
the room where your grandfather sat enthroned in an 
old tapestry-covered arm-chair. And I see at the end of 
the hall the little garden where I played stick-horse 
with your father. What a magnificent view there was 
from it!^^ 

There is still, if you care to look at it. 

It would afford me great pleasure, if you are not afraid 
of taking cold/^ 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 147 

I am not afraid of anything now^ it seems to me/’ said 
Edmee sadly. 

You must^ indeed^ have suffered much during the past 
two months. Your father sent into exile without a trial; 
your brother arrested on a false charge! So far as your 
father is concerned, I assure you that it was no fault of 
mine that his case resulted as it did. I did all that I could 
to have him kept in the prison at Salviac; hut unfortu- 
nately party feeling ran high, and I, myself, was regarded 
with suspicion on account of my political opinions, and 
especially on account of the conduct of my hare-brained 
cousin. "But the excitement is abating, and I hope to pre- 
vent my old friend^s departure after all.’’^ 

And in the meantime he is in prison. 

In a case like this, imprisonment is no disgrace; and I 
shall move heaven and earth to obtain his release."^ 

^ ^ Ah, this is the same view I admired so much in years 
gone by. It is truly superb; I should like to have an 
equally beautiful prospect from the windows of my castle 
They had reached the garden. The sunlight of a bright 
winter^s day illumined the scene, for the weather had un- 
dergone a complete change since the Saturday before, and 
the air was now so mild that every vestige of snow had dis- 
appeared. 

^^I see the club-house over there, continued M. de 
Sigoules. Do you know that I was there when that Cor- 
sican was killed? He .fell only a few feet from me; but 
the deuce take me if I suspected that they were going to 
accuse and arrest the son of one of my tenants! When I 
first heard the news, the other day, I protested with all my 
might, and I have not hesitated to say what I think of the 
conduct of that rascally sub-prefect. He is the cause of 
the whole trouble, and I hope that he will have to pay 
dearly for it, now that his victim has taken an unceremoni- 
ous leave of his jailer. 

Heed I add that I was delighted to hear of your broth- 
er's miraculous escape. But I have heard none of the par- 
ticulars. How did he manage to escape under the very 
eyes of the scoundrel who is persecuting my cousin Adhe- 
mar?" 

I do not know, sir." 

Then you have not seen him since he made his escape?" 
^^Ho. He must have thought our house would be 


148 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


searcliecL It was, in fact, searched from top to bottom, 
only a few hours after his disappearance.^^ 

The same morning the geiidarmes paid me a visit. He 
must have taken refuge in the forest, and I am surprised 
that he has not been recaptured before this. But some one 
must certainly have assisted him in escaping from the jail, 
and you, of course, know who it was. 

Edmee made no reply. She kept her eyes obstinately 
fixed upon the wood-prowned hills on the other side of 
the Dronne, and did not appear to even hear the remark. 

That is, unless the assistance was rendered by some 
one inside the prison, continued the count. The head- 
jailer has a wife who seems much less obdurate than her 
husband. I was present last Saturday when she spoke to 
jou in the square, and she did not hesitate to express her 
sympathy for Louis. You had left us, however, when she 
promised to do all in her power to ease the lot of two of 
her husband^s prisoners, your brother and my cousin. Can 
it be that her sympathy impelled her to open the prison 
doors for Louis? 

You do not answer, continued M. de Sigoules, who 
was beginning to be annoyed by the girTs continued silence. 

What are you looking at so intently? Are you awaiting 
some signal? Is it the smoke that is rising there from be- 
hind the trees ?^^ 

For some moments a thick column of smoke had been 
rising slowly heavenward from behind the chestnuts. There 
was no wind, and the smoke was ascending in a straight 
line. 

It is a brush fire, lighted by some shepherd, murmured 
the old nobleman. 

'No/’ replied Edmee, whose eyes were now sjiarkling 
joyously, not by a shepherd, but by one of my friends, to 
tell me that my brother has left the neighborhood, and is 
now in safety — far from here.^^ 

So much the better. And now that he is safe, you can 
surely tell me where he has been hiding. 

Not far from your chateau — in the forest of Valade, 
sir.-^^ 

He was fortunate, indeed, to escape the gendarmes^ 
who have been searching every part of the forest. It is not 
necessary to ask the name of the person who sends you 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 149 

this signal. It is that good-for-nothing Jacques, my 
former gamekeeper. 

But it was he who set your brother free, was it not?^^ 
He endeavored to, though I had begged him not to en- 
danger his life in attempting an impossibility. He did not 
succeed, and he was wounded in the arm — he was fired at 
from the court-yard of the prison — ^but he managed to 
descend from the roof upon which he had climbed, and to 
fiee, after Louis had made his escape, nobody knows how.^^ 
can guess, however. It must certainly have been 
the jailer^'s handsome wife who released him, after which 
he immediately went to join his friend Jacques. But how 
have you managed to obtain news of them?^^ 

Jacques has many friends among the peasants who fre- 
quent our market. This morning a woman came here, 
ostensibly to sell me some poultry. She told me that Louis 
and Jacques — who had nearly recovered from his wound — 
had left the neighborhood, and that if their guide, a worthy 
youth from Lesquillac, succeeded in conducting them to a 
place of safety, he would light a fire upon that hill on his 
return. 

But I wonder where they have taken refuge. They 
can not go far without money. 

I sent Louis some money. 

Then they may succeed in reachi^ Paris, though that 
is a very dangerous place for them. Tlie police are much 
more formidable there than in Salviac. Still, your brother 
may escape their notice, if he dons a different costume. 
But I can not conceive that young savage, Jacques, in the 
attire of a gentleman. He is so peculiar in his appearance 
that he will have a good deal of difficulty in passing him- 
self off for an honest man.^^ 

^^He is one, nevertheless,^^ replied Mile. Chancelade, 
with a vivacity the Count de Sigoules did not fail to notice. 

As nearly as a poacher can be,^^ he said, gently. It 
is not my fault that he is living in the woods. I made 
every effort to retain him in my service, and would have 
done my best to insure him an honorable careeri He would 
make a'splendid soldier, but I fear he will remain a vaga- 
bond until the end of his days.^^ 

He has promised me to the contrary/^ 

Then you have seen him recently. 


150 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


“ On the day following my brother’s arrest, and since 
then he has sent me word that they were both going to em- 
bark for America. I shall join them there.” 

“What! my dear Edmee, you would leare your home 
Rnd friends — ” 

“ I have no longer any friends in France, and I will not 
Jive under a government that has treated my father like a 
common criminal. 

^ This government will not last forever, and its persecu- 
tions are nearly at an end. I shall succeed in obtaining 
your father's pardon, and in proving that your brother is 
innocent. You can assist me in this, mademoiselle, for 
you must know where he was at the time the commissioner 
was shot. " 

Yes, and I will tell you now that, he has escaped. He 
went with Jacques to lie in wait on the Perigueux Eoadfor 
the carriage containing my father. They attacked the 
escort — but tliere were only two of them — and they did 
not succeed in delivering him." 

^^^^The deuce! this complicates the situation terribly* 
They wounded a gendarme ^ and in these days such an at- 
tack is regarded as a very serious matter. I begin to think 
that they will do well to set sail for America. 

But you, my poor child, are not obliged to exile your- 
self. Eemain here, and await the coming of better days. 
An armistice will be declared> sooner or later, and your 
brother can return, for in the meantime, the commission- 
er's assassin is sure to be discovered. You will reply, per- 
haps, that a young girl can not live alone. Ah, well, I 
will find you a husband. " 

do not wish to marry." 

^^^But why? You have all the requisites to win a most 
desirable husband." 

^^My hand is already promised." 

To Jacques, perhaps." 

Yes, to Jacques." 

Permit me to say that a young woman like you can 
not marry — a poacher. 

^^This poacher has twice risked his. life to save my father 
and my brother. This poacher loves me — and I love him. " 

So much for a young girl's folly! I do not deny thai 
this young man possesses many attractive qualities. He is 
very good-looking; he is brave, and I do not think him bad at 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


151 


heart. You admire him because he is unlike the young 
fops you see about Salviac, and you think you love him. But 
if you commit the folly of marrying him^ you will be sorry 
for it all your life. Profit by the results of my experience 
and observation, my dear Edmee; these heroes of romance 
make detestable husbands. For instance, there is my 
cousin Mussidan, he is a favorite Avith all the ladies, and 
for much the same reason, but I should sincerely pity the 
woman who married him.^^ 

I am greatly obliged to you, sir, for the advice you 
are so kind as to give me. 

^‘^But you are resolved not to follow it. Ah, well, con- 
sult your brother. 

^^My brother Avill approve my choice , shid Edmee, 
firmly. 

You must allow me to doubt that,^^ replied M. de Si- 
goules. ^^He likes Jacques, and is under heavy obliga- 
tions to him, doubtless; but he is sensible enough to un- 
derstand that this marriage is impossible. I feel certain, 
too, that your father will oppose it, and you can not marry 
without his consent, as you are still a minor. 

I can wait. Besides, it is not in France, that I shall 
marry Jacques, but in America, and he is not there yet. 
Heaven only knows whether he and my brother will succeed 
in getting out of the country. 1 shall not leave Salviac 
until I have received news of their safe arrival in Paris. 

It seems to me that you are forgetting your father, 
said the old nobleman, rath;pr severely. 

No, sir, I do not forget him, but I can do nothing for 
him now. I should not even be allowed to see him if I Avent 
to Toulon. But when he reaches Cayenne, my brother, 
Jacques, and myself Avill go there and try to set him 
free. 

M. de Sigoules shrugged his shoulders. The jDlan 
seemed utterly impracticable to him; and yet, in spite of 
himself, he Avas compelled to admire the dauntless energy 
of this girl of twenty years who talked of traversing the 
poisonous marshes of Guiana and rescuing a prisoner as if 
it were the simplest thing in the world. 

Mademoiselle,^^ he said, in more cordial tones, while 
you are waiting for these generous hopes to be realized, you 
will not take it amiss, I trust, if I exert what little influ- 
ence I may still possess in Paris, in your brother's favor. If 


152 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


I could succeed in proving that he was not in Salviac the 
evening the commissioner was murdered, I am almost sure 
that he would be treated with much less severity. Will 
you allow me to tell where he was?^"^ 

Louis would gain nothing by it. In fact, they would 
be much more severe on him if they knew he fired on the 
gendarmes, 

I think you are mistaken. The authorities can not 
censure a man^s attempt to rescue his father very severely, 
and I might perhaps succeed in persuading them to ignore 
the unfortunate affair altogether. 

You can do as you think best, sir, provided you do not 
compromise. Jacques by disclosing that he had a hand iu 
the matter. He has not the same excuse for his conduct, 
for he is not a member of our family, and thus far, no one 
has thought of suspecting him. 

^‘1 will take good care not to implicate him; but I 
must tell you that it will be difficult to convince j^eople of 
your brother^’s innocence until the real culprit is discovered. 
Up to the present time suspicion has fallen upon no one 
else but your brother, for every one else who had any spe- 
cial cause to desire the commissioner's death was in prison 
when the crime was committed.'’^ 

^ ^^ISTo, not every one,-'"’ murmured Edmee. You hated 
him, I know, but you would not have assassinated him.'^^ 

I am only a woman. 

Then you think the shot was fired by one of the rebels 
that are still at large 

I know nothing at all about it. But I have learned 
through niy neighbor. Monsieur Braconne, and through 
Doctor Thiviers, that the bullet that killed the commissioner r 
was too large to have been fired from an ordinary hunting- ^ 
rifle. i 


Indeed exclaimed M. de Sigoules. ""Wliy, that is 
a very convincing piece of evidence. Your brother has 
never possessed any other weapon, I believe. The gov- 
ernment attorney must be greatly prejudiced to give no 
heed to such a very important fact. 

Monsieur Braconne intended to make use of it before 
the court of assizes. 

Then he had undertaken your brother's defense 

He requested permission to do so, and expressed him- 
self as being sanguine of securing an acquittal. 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 


153 


_ “That was kind, very kind of him. I shall take occa- 
Sion to thank liim this very day. 

“ And I ask you to say nothing to him about my intend- 
ed departure.” •' . 

“i a word about it, of course. But have 

you fully decided to leave Salviac?” 

“Yes, in the course of the next few davs.” 

“ To go to Paris.?” 

, “Yes, at first.” 

•“ Have you any money?” 

^‘1 have ten thousand francs in gold that my father in- 
trusted to me on the eve of the insurrection, and I feel 
that I have a right to use it.” 

T certa,inly; but if you would prefer not to touch it, 

1 wpl cheerfully loan you all the money you need. I do 
not approve of this journey; but if you are resolved to 
make I want you to have plenty of money at your dis- 
posait 


“ The amount in my possession will more than suffice for 
our expenses to America.” 

“ So be it. But how will you find your brother and— 
your fnend— in Paris?” 

The first letter Louis writes will give me all the neces- 
sary information. ” 


“Yes; if it is not intercepted.” 

“ Do you think any one would dare?” 

“There is not the slightest doubt of it. These men “ 
have no scruples about the means they employ. Had I 
foreseen all this, I should have urged you to carry on your 
Don-espondence with your brother through me.” 

“ Whei-e do you intend to stop in Paris?” 

“At a hotel, I suppose, unless my brother—” 

, brother will have all he can do to keep out of 
/he clutches of the police. He would commit a fatal im- 
orndeuTO if he even came to the station to meet you; and 
eally, the more 1 think of it, the more impracticable this 
nan of meeting him in Paris appears. You would do ' 
nuch better to wait until I have proved an alibi for him. 

wul be a difficult matter, but it is not an impossibility, 
n ^ to set about it immediately. 

“But, in any case, you can not go to a public inn. 
LOung and pretty as you are, you would be exposed to all 
orts of annoyances. If you persist m your scheme, I can 


154 


THE PEETTY JAILEK. 


recommend you to an old gentlewoman whom I have known 
for twenty years. She resides in the Faubourg Saint-Ger- 
main, in a large apartment, where she can shelter you for 
awhile without the slightest inconvenience. 

But there will be plenty of time to settle all these de- 
tails, only promise me not to leave Salviac with notifying 
me. I will be here two hours after the receipt of your 
note. Is it agreed 

Yes,'’^ replied Edniee, who was beginning to forget her 
former prejudice against the count, and to realize that his 
advice was good after all. 

^^Very well; I have your promise, and I shall depend 
upon it. Now, I must leave you. I am anxious to seo 
Monsieur Braconne, and I shall be sure to find him at the 
club. 

By the way, does he know that your brother took part 
in the attack upon the escort on the road to Perigueux?^^ 

^^ He suspected it, and questioned me on the subject,, 
and I did not deny it.^^ 

^^Then I can allude to the fact? Indeed I shall not 
fail to do so. We will both unite in defense of the ab- 
sent, and we must come to an understanding in regard to 
what should be done first. 

Au revoir, my dear Edmee. Keep up a stout heart. 

M. de Sigoules departed, well pleased with the result of 
his interview with Mile. Ohancelade, and firmly resolved 
to do his best to restore her brother to her. He even 
fiattered himself that his prudent advice would be followed. 

He walked straight toward the club-house, refiecting 
upon the commissioner's tragical death, and wondering 
who could have killed him, since Louis Ohancelade was 
not the culprit. 

On the evening of the murder M. de Sigoules, who had 
no love for the victim, did not trouble himself to ascer- 
tain how the assassin had managed to commit the crime 
and make his escape. 

The count had left the officials crowding around M. 
Santelli^s lifeless body, and quietly returned to the inn, 
without troubling himself about the probable consequences 
of the event. 

Even when he first learned of Louis Ohancelade^s ar- 
rest he felt very little interest in that young man^s fate, 
though he sympathized deej)ly with Edmee; but he now 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


155 


ielt a strong desire to prove the unfortunate youth^s in- 
nocence, and consequently wished to become conversant 
with all the facts of the case. 

What he had just heard in regard to the weapon used 
lingered in his mind. In the attack upon Salviac made 
early in December the insurgents had been armed with 
fowling-pieces, pistols, and even cudgels. Adhemar de 
Mussidan, their commander, had an old cavalry saber and 
a carbine. 

Whence came this weapon, then? There had never been 
any garrison at Salviac, nor any regulars, the gendarmes 
having proved sufficient to disperse the rebels after a very 
short and comparatively harmless encounter. 

Did the weapon from which the fatal bullet was fired be- 
long to a resident of the town? That did not seem proba- 
ble. Besides, what did the assassin do with his weapon 
after he fired it? If he had thrown it away, it would 
have been found, and the detectives had been searching for 
-it in vain for a week. It seemed almost certain, therefore, 
that he had taken it away with him, but Louis Chancel- 
ade, at the time of his arrest, had only a double-barreled 
fowling-piece in his possession. 

These thoughts engrossed the mind of M. de Sigoules to 
such a degree that before entering the club-house he re- 
solved to examine its surroundings and, above all, the ter- 
race from which the fatal shot was fired. 

The terrace was separated from the public promenade, 
known as the Esplanade, only by a low wall which could 
be easily scaled. The count approached it, and was about 
to climb over it when he saw upon the terrace, some dis- 
tance off, a party of five or six gentlemen with whom he 
was well acquainted, and who seemed to be engaged in an 
animated conversation with the gardener. 

That functionary held in his hand something that he 
was showing to the gentlemen, though what it was. the old 
nobleman was utterly unable to determine. 

M. Braconne, the friend M. de Sigoules wished to see, 
was one of the group, and in another moment he had per- 
ceived the old nobleman, and cried: 

Ah, count, you are just in time? Come and hear about 
the strange discovery that Pilois has just made:^^ 

M. de Sigoules hastily jumj^d over the wall and joined 
ihe curious crowd. President Bourdeille and Dr. Thiviers 


156 


THE PKETTY JAILEE. 


were of the party^ so the champions of Chancelade were 
decidedly in the majority. 

What is the matter the count asked. 

Pilois just found this rifle in the pit where he - keeps 
his gardening tools. The weapon was concealed behind a 
pile of watering-pots.^^ 

^^Hand it here, and let me examine it. Ah! it is of 
English manufacture. The name of the maker is engraved 
upon the barrel — Manton — ^the best gunsmith in London.. 
There are very few of his weapons in France, though the 
last time I was in Paris, one of my friends of the Union 
Club showed me one very similar to this. He had pur- 
chased it in England for hunting lions in Algeria. 

^^It is formidable enough for hunting the most ferocious 
wild beasts. 

^^And it is a breechrloader — a new invention that is 
comparatively unknown in France. 

And entirely unknown in Salviac. I donT believe 
you could find another weapon like it in the whole arron* 
dissementJ^ 

^^It is a beauty, remarked Monsieur de Sigoules, who 
was a connoisseur in such matters. 

As he spoke, he took the weapon to examine it. 

^^Why!^"" he exclaimed, ^^the cartridge is still here. It 
is loaded — that is, unless — let me see — ^no, the cartridge has 
been fired. It is only the capsule that remains in the 
chamber. 

I was sure of it,^^ replied the doctor. The weapon 
has been fired — and I know where the bullet is that came 
out of it.^^ 

W^hat hastily exclaimed President Bourdeille; you 
think that this weapon — 

^ MV as used to kill the commissioner; and I will prove 
it, if you like. The bullet I extracted from- Monsieur 
Santelli^’s body is of the very same caliber. You have only 
to compare them to satisfy yourself of the truth of my 
assertion.''^ 

^^This, gentlemen, is a discovery that establishes Louis 
Chancelade^’s innocence beyond any possibility of doubt, 
remarked M. Braconne. 

^Mt is very evident that the weapon does not belong 
to him,^'’ added M. Bourdeille. 

A Manton rifle costs one thousand francs in London/^ 


THE PKETTY JAILEK. 


157 


remarked M. de Sigoules^ and Oliancelade has not only 
never been in England^ but is not very likely to have saved 
from his salary as a public school-teacher the wherewithal 
to purchase such a weapon/^ 

The first thing that must be done now is to discover 
to Avhom it does belong/' returned the president. "Tknow 
no one in this neighborhood rich enough to own a weapon 

of this kind." ‘ . i.* 

There is nothing to prove that the assassin is a native 
of this locality. The commissioner had enemies in all the 
departments in which he has instituted rigorous measures^ 
One of these enemies may have followed him here to kill 

Yes; but he would have taken his gun home with him., 
instead of leaving it here/' replied M. Bourdeille. 

The fact is, I can not understand how it came here, 
said the count. The hiding-place is by no means , con- 
spicuous> especially at night; consequently the assassin 
must have been aware of its existence." 

That is very true; and from this fact I conclude that 
the assassin is a resident of Salviac. " 

^^If he lived in Salviac he could have concealed the 
weapon in Ms house, instead of leaving it here/’ objected 

M. Braconne. . -i 

That is by no means certain,” replied the president. 
TTc might have feared a visit from the police, and thought- 
this the easiest way to get rid of this article of conviction. 
Besides, he could not have taken his weapon with him. 
You were here when the crime was committed; so was 
■ I, and I can guess now what occurred after the shot was 

fired. , • T XT 

“As the sub-prefect threw up the window, the assassin 

saw that he would be pursued, and instead of fleeing to- 
ward the river, he crouched down close to the wall that 
forms the basement of the club-house. He allowed M. 
Yignory and young Mouleydier to pass him and descend 
• the hill; then he quietly returned home byway of the es- 
planade; but as he did not think it prudent to go through 
the town with his gun upon his shoulder, he thiew his 
weapon into the pit. ” . 

Your explanation seems a very plausible one, my clear 
president," said M. de Sigoules, and I feel satisfied now' 
that the son of my tenant was not the assassin." 


158 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


He made a great mistake in running away/'’ was tlie re- 
ply. he had remained where he was, the judge of in- 

struction, who had no 2 )rejudice against him, would haye 
been sure to dismiss the charge. 

‘■‘'He may do so even 

1 doubt it, sir. A suspected person who flees is almost 
always thought guilty. Louis will be greatly blamed for his 
audacity, and will probably be condemned to undergo the 
heaviest penalty of the law — that is to say, death. This al- 
most always happens in such a case. If I knew where he 
was, I should certainly write to him that the very best thing 
he could do would be to return and give himself up. He 
would then be sent before the Court of Assizes, where I 
could secure his acquittal without the slightest difiiculty.^" 
agree with you perfectly, returned the president. 

But how are we to inform him of what is sroine: on in 
Salviac?^^ 

M. de Sigoules was strongly tempted to reply that the 
fugitive^’s sister could tell them, but he had sworn to 
keep Edmee's secret, so he said nothing. 

It is of the utmost importance that we should report 
our friend PiloisMiscovery,'’^ remarked M. Bourdeille; in- 
deed it is my duty as a magistrate. I will go straight to 
the palace of justice, for this being market-day, the gov- 
ernment 'procureiir will be in his office all day. He will cer- 
tainly grant me a hearing — 

There are none so deaf as those who wonT hear,^^ 
growled the old count, and the popinjay you refer to is 
so bitter against all the opponents of his government, 
that we can not place much dependence upon his im- 
partiality. Still, you can make the attempt, my friend. 

‘'‘'And I will accompany you!'’" exclaimed M. Thiviers. 
^^I certainly have an undoubted right to be heard, as I 
was the person who conducted the autopsy."" 

Then turning to the gardener, he added: 

You, Pilois, my boy, had better accompany us, and 
tell the prociireur how you happened to discover the weapon. 
He will not question your veracity, and he might question 
ours. "" 

And I "" said the count, ^^will go into the club-house, 
where, it is needless to say, I shall await your return with 
the utmost impatience, for I am very anxious to learn the 


THE PKETTY JAILEK. 


159 


decision of this magistrate in whom I have no confidence 
whatever/^ 

. He will come to no decision at all/^ replied the doctor. 
^^He will content himself with referring the case to the^ 
procureur-geneval. We shall also have a hitter opponent in 
the person of the sub-prefect, who hopes to secure promo- 
tion for the arrest of Chancelade. But what does that 
matter. We shall have done our duty."" 

Let us be off then/" said the president, who agreed 
with M. Thiviers perfectly. 

Pilois shouldered the rifie and opened the line of march. 

M. Bourdeille and the doctor followed; but the county 
drawing M. Braconne a little aside, and looking him full 
in the face, said: 

^^What do you think of all this, my dear fellow? 

I think that this investigation is beginning to ass-ume 
a new aspect. I felt certain of young Chancelade"s in- 
nocence before, and if he were here, I should feel sure of 
securing his acquittal, for I have no doubt that the owner 
of this costly piece of fire-arms will be soon discovered."" 

I hope so, indeed, though I am by no means confident 
of it. Have you seen Chancelade"s sister lately?"" 

Yes, count, and I very much regret that she has not 
seen fit to accept a certain proposal that I made to her. 
But the mischief is done now, and I fear it will prove irre- 
parable. I even fear that she will aggravate it by joining 
her brother and the young rascal who assisted him in 
making his escape."" 

"‘^You mean Jacques, my former game-keeper, I sup- 
pose?"" 

“ The same. I had dreamed of a very different future 

for this young girl.” _ . i. w 

I am happy to hear that you take an interest in her. 

What would you think, count, if I should tell you that 
I was anxious to marry her?"" 

I should esteem you all the more, my dear fellow. 
Edmee is a paragon of virtue as well as of beauty."" 

Unfortunately, I am a little too old for her, and I have 
renounced all hope of winning her; but I shall always re- 
main the most devoted of her admirers."" 

I thank you, my friend^ for I am really very fond of 
her, and I am very much afraid that she is not acting very 
wisely. We shall take another opportunity to speak of 


160 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


the matter. I shall call on you at your house at an early 
day. But^ now^ tell me what has been going on in Salviac 
since last Saturday. I came straight from the manor- 
house^ and have heard no news whatever. Tell me, to 
begin with, who was the lady that made such a triumphant 
^ntry into town, in a post-chaise, last Saturday?^^ 

Oh, there is quite a story connected with the lady in 
question. She is, or, at least, she pretended to be, a near 
relative of Madame Marteau, the head-jailer^s wife. She 
began by calling on the sub-prefect, who oifered her his 
Rrm to escort her to the prison, where she was very cor- 
dially received by the Marteaus."^^ 

And is she there still 

!No. In less than twenty-four hours the fair stranger, 
who j)robably did not find prison life much to her taste, 
departed as suddenly as she came.*^^ 

^^Had she gone when Chancelade mado his escape in- 
quired the old nobleman, hastily. 

^^No; she disappeared on the very day following. 
Disappeared?^^ repeated the count. 

Yes, that is the word; for no one in Salviac knows 
where or how she went. Some declare that they saw her 
drive off in a carriage with young Martial Mouleydier. 

The little ^clerk that jumped out of the club-window 
after the sub-prefect?^'^ 

Exactly — and the same who denounced Chancelade to 
the sub-prefect, whose particular crony he is.'^^ 

I can^’t say I think much of the lady^’s taste, if this re- 
port is true. 

Oh, she soon got enough of his company, for he re- 
turned to Salviac that same evening; but nothing has since 
been seen or heard of the fair stranger, although Monsieur 
de Vignory gave some friends to understand that the lady 
was sent to Salviac on a political ini: "'mn.‘^'^ 

It was probably to watch the jinsoner, then, as she 
made the prison her home. If my cousin Adhemar saw her 
he certainly tried to start a flirtation with her, provided 
.she was pretty. She jiassed me so quickly last Saturday 
that I didn^t have time to get a look at her. I only noticed 
that she was enveloped in furs. 

^^I did noksee her at all, but the doctor, who met her 
once on the' 'reet, tells me that she was very pretty and 
stylish. 


THE PKETTY JAILEK. 


161 


She was evidently a Parisienne. 

Like the jailer^s wife. Who knows but they may have 
combined to bring about Chancelade^s escape. He is a 
handsome fellow, and he probably won the hearts of the 
ladies. 

“ But your cousin Mussidan is equally good looking,” 
was the smiling rejoinder. “ They would not have left 
him in prison if they had been able to open the prison 
doors for any of Marteau’s wards. I have an entirely dif- 
ferent theory.” 

‘‘What is it?” 

“ I think some one set a trap for poor Louis. They al- 
lowed him to escape because they thought he would cer- 
tainly be recaptured. They hoped he would take refuge 
in his sister^s house^ .oi* in yours — or that he would join the 
insurgents who are still at large. They wanted to make 
people believe in the existence of a great conspiracy, and 
implicate you, Edmee, and many others. 

My dear Braconne, I think you are going too far. 
These people are capable of anything, hut they have not 
as much imagination as you suppose. It does not matter 
in the least how Ohancelade made his escape. The essen- 
tial thing is to prove .that he did not kill the commissioner, 
and the only means of proving that, is to find the real cul- 
prit, and that is what I hope we shall soon succeed in 

^^'^he 'worthy president and the kind-hearted doctor side 
with us, and the discovery of the English rifle is a most 
important one. However prejudiced the authorities may 
he, they will he obliged to admit that. 

I wish I could see Adhemar. He was in the prison 
when fhis miraculous escape took place, and he must know 
many things of whicjh we are ignorant. 

^^But they have refused you permission to do that, un- 
fortunately.^'’ ; vm 

I shall make another attempt to obtain it^, all the same. 
The situation is changed. I have an old comrade in Paris, 
who now hold^. a high position at court, and who is exert- 
ing himself in !A.dli(:rhar^s behalf. In fact, he has prom- 
ised to secure my Cousins’s release. I have recently discov- 
ered that this great personage is the protector ^ of Jailer 
Marteau, or rather of Madame Marteau, amounts to 

6. 


162 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


the same thing, and I am going to write to him again to 
beg him to have this interdict annulled. 

Now what do you say to entering the club-house? It is 
a great place for gossip, and we may be able to gather 
some scraps of information there. 

That is a very good idea, count. The game is now 
in progress, and all the landed proprietors of the neigh- 
borhood are congregated in the card-room. We shall only 
have to listen to their conversation, for Louis Chancelade^s 
escape created such a sensation that it is still talked 
about. 

They found a numerous company assembled in the room 
where M. Santelli had been struck down the Saturday be- 
fore. 

Assistant Bizouin was holding forth to a cir- 

cle of attentive auditors, and the first words that reached 
the old nobleman^s ear told him that Edmee^s brother was 
the topic of conversation. 

That embryo magistrate declared that the fugitive would 
soon be recaptured, and that he had escapad only through 
the complicity of sundry persons whom he forbore to 
name, though he gave his hearers to understand that his 
chief had reported them to the minister, and that their 
dismissal was merely a question of time. 

There could be no doubt whatever that he was referring- 
to the head- jailer, and perhaps to the sub -prefect also. 

This was very pleasant news to M. de Sigoules, who 
cordially hated both officials, and who was accordingly re- 
<^oiced to hear that he was not likely to have anything more 
4o do with them. He would, therefore, have abstained 
from taking any part in the conversation, had not the 
young and imprudent Bizouin suddenly taken it into his 
head to inveigh loudly against the Baron de Mussidan, 
who, he declared, ought to be already on his way ta 
Cayenne. 

This tirade so greatly incensed our friend, the count, 
that he walked straight up to the speaker, and taking him 
by the coat-button, and looking him full in the eyes, said: 

My young sir, I can not prevent you from holding the 
office of prosecuting attorney, but I forbid you to speak of 
my cousin again in terms of disrespect. The Baron de 
Mussidan is in prison, convict him if you can, but do not 


THE PRETTY JAILER. W" 

dare to speak disparagingly of him. If you do^ you will 
have to answer to me.^'’ ^ 

I am not under your orders^ sir/’ stammered Bizouin, 
turning pale. 

That is ver}' possible, but I give you my orders all the\ 
same, and I swear that I will make you regret it, if you do 
not obey them. 

Not a word more if you donT want me to thrash you 
here and now.^^ 

This was said in such a tone that the unfortunate offi- 
cial could only turn on his heel, under pretext of maintain- 
ing his dignity. He did not care for this belligerant noble- 
man to seize him by the collar, but he resolved to avenge 
this insult upon Adhemar de Mussidan, who was not in a 
position to defend himself. 

The altercation created some commotion and interrupted 
the game o^bezique^ for M. de Sigoules had uttered his 
threat in anything but subdued tones; but M. Braconne 
hastily interposed and dragged the old count away, saying, 

‘ as he did so : 

Do you expeqt to conciliate your cousin^s jiersecutors 
by this sort of treatment 

Let them go to the devil, where they belong I” replied M. 
de Sigoules, in the same uncompromising tones. I wonT 
stand and hear one of my near relatives insulted in public. 

If Adhemar had been in my place, he would have said 
exactly what I did to this spy and detective.'’^ 

His auditors looked extremely uncomfortable, for they 
had no desire to be mixed uji in this quarrel between two 
representatives of the old and of the new regime, 
t In the provinces, people stand, for the most part, ii 
' wholesome awe of the powers that be; but Bizouin was 
very unpopular, and no one was sorry to see him receive a 
lesson. 

The count, who had regained his composure, was begin- 
ning to feel some surprise that nothing was said about the 
finding of tjie rifle; but he did not like to introduce the 
topic himself, and he concluded that Pilois, instead of com- 
ing up to announce the discovery to the card-players and 
talkers, had contented himself with showing the weapon 
to the four or five members of the club who were promen- 
Ming the terrace at the time he found it. 

The game and the conversation were alike suspended^ 


164 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


and one could have heard a pin drop in the room^ when 
the door was flung noisily open and the sub-prefect ap- 
peared, much to the surprise of his constituents, for he 
very rarely visited the cluh, particularly in the day-time. 

His entrance created a sensation, more especially as he 
no longer wore that air of importance which so ill became 
him. 

He wore his hat perched jauntily over one ear, carried a 
walking-stick in his hand, and a mocking smile played upon 
his lips. 

All eyes Avere riveted upon him; and the assistant 
mreur^ though not an admirer of his by any means, stepped 
forward to accost him, and perhaps to tell him of the af- 
front the old count had just offered him. 

But to the great astonishment of the spectators, Charles 
Vignory passed him by without even honoring him with a 
look, and walked straight up to M. de Sigoules, saluting 
him with a deferential bow, which was very coldly returned. 

This polite demonstration was so unexpected that several 
of those present wondered if the government had been over- 
turned, and Henri V. seated upon the thi»one. 

Vignory did not leave them long in suspense, however. 

Count, he said, in a clear and perfectly audible voice, 

I am charmed to have an opportunity to pay my respects 
to you in public. My official position has prevented mo 
from doing so up to the present -time, but from this morn- 
ing I am no longer sub-prefect of Salviac.'^'^ 

This startling speech produced a marked effect upon 
those present. 

It was certainly of a nature to furnish grounds for tAvo 
very different suppositions; and the residents of Salviac 
were in doubt as to whether they ought to congratulate the 
speaker or condole with him. 

The assistant procureur, however, found it difficult ta 
repress a smile of satisfaction, for he felt sure of the sub- 
prefect's disgrace. 

M. de Sigoules, surprised, and a trifle shocked, at being 
thus accosted, said coldly: 

am charmed to h^r that you have a prospect of a 
more desirable office; but however this may be, I feel sure 
that you Avill not regret leaving Salviac. 

should not regret leaving Salviac under any circum- 
stances, count,^^ replied Vignory, Avith an insolent glance 


165 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 

at the natives; ''but I shall regret leaving it still less, as I 
am about -to return to Paris/’ 

" Have you been made Prefect of the Seine?” inquired 
M. Braconne, sneeringly. 

"]^o; I am no longer even a sub-prefect.” 

" What ! You have been desposed !” 

"I was sure of it,” murmured the amiable Bizouin. 
" We are rid of him at last! How fortunate!” 

" That is not stating the case exactly^ though it amounts 
to about the same thing,” replied Vignory, gayly. "I. 
have sent in my resignation. ” 

"Indeed!” exclaimed M. Braconne, greatly astonished. 

"Yes, and I haven’t the slightest doubt that it will be 
promptly accepted.” 

"And why?” 

" Because my services do not give satisfaction. I am 
considered lacking in zeal, and those who have too much 
of it, have felt it their duty to denounce me. The minis- 
ter wishes to get rid of me, and I am delighted to be freed 
from my burden of responsibility, so you see it is all for 
the best.” 

"I have had enough of official life.” 

"This is all bosh!” muttered the assistant 
through his set teeth. 

Vignory must have overheard the remark, however, for 
he continued carelessly: 

" I can understand, of course, a penniless 'magistrate’s 
anxiety to keep his place, but thank Heaven, I have no 
longer any need of mine. I have just inherited an income 
of thirty thousand francs from an uncle. It is not a colos- 
sal fortune of course, but it is enough for one to live com- 
fortably upon, and I shall no longer be obliged to perse- 
cute poor wretches who are, in my opinion, quite excusable 
for their rebellious proclivities. ” ^ 

"Is it to me that this remark is addressed?” asked 
Bizouin, endeavoring to assume a ferocious air. 

" You are at liberty to think whatever you please.” 

This reply effectually silenced Louis Chancelade’s perse- 
cutor. He said to himself that instead of quarreling with 
a man who had nothing whatever to lose, he had much 
better go and inform his chief of the intended departure of 
this sub-prefect, against whom charges had been so freely 
made duilng the last three or four days. 


166 THE PRETTY JAILER. 

Having come to this conclusion, the assistant promreur 
thought it advisable to beat a retreat, so he made his way 
quietly to the door and disappeared, to the great satisfac- 
tion of the entire company. 

Not that Vignory was particularly popular in Salviac, 
but he had agreeable manners, and by turning the tables 
upon M. Bizouin, he had brought all the citizens over to 
his side. 

M. de Sigoules^had not yet overcome his prejudice 
against this ex-official, but he thought of the advantages 
he might derive from this change, and decided that it 
would be unwise to repulse Vignory^s advances. He felt 
grateful to him, too, for having openly censured the se- 
verity of the government, and thought it only right to 
thank him publicly. 

We do not march under the same flag, sir,^^ he began. 

As I am only an ex-official, I no longer have a flag,^^ 
interrupted Vignory, laughing. 

But when you had one, I was your enemy; still, that 
need not prevent me from congratulating you upon the 
very honorable sentiments you have just expressed. 

M. Vignory colored wish pleasure. Since he had come 
into his inheritance he was a very different man. He 
viewed everything through rose-colored spectacles. He 
realized that the power of an ancestral name, and of a 
landed proprietor, survived all regimes, and he felt dis- 
posed to make every effort to win a place in M. de Sigoules^ 
good graces. 

These have always been my sentiments, he returned, 
quickly, though my official position has prevented me 
from manifesting them; and I beg you to believe, sir, that 
I shall be only too happy to put them in practice. 

M. Braconne felt strongly tempted to put the laudable 
intentions M. Vignory had just expressed to the test; but 
he did not like to ask the favor that would so gratify the 
old nobleman in the presence of so many witnesses. 

So he gently pushed the former sub-prefect into the 
embrasure of the very window through which the com- 
missioner was shot, and said in subdued tones: 

If you really wish to oblige M. de Sigoules, there is 
a way to do it. 

Indicate it, replied Vignory, eagerly. 

^^He has been refused permission to see his cousin, 


THE PEETTY^ JAILEK. 


167 


[;liough I am unable to understand why. Can you grant 
.t to 

Not officially. That is the prerogative of the judge 
)f instruction. But I am still a sub-prefect, in as much 
IS no one has been sent to take my place, so I have an 
indoubted right to enter the prison in company with any 
me I please. That brute of a jailer does not know that 
[ have sent in my resignation, so he will allow me to do 
whatever I please, especially as he is afraid that he will 
lose his place on account of Louis Ohancelade^s escape. 

If Monsieur de Sigoules will accompany me to the pris- 
on, I can safely promise that he shall see Monsieur de Mus- 
ddan.^^ 

He would be delighted to do so.^^ ^ 

But this visit must be paid immediately, for if Marteau 
should hear that I am no longer sub-prefect he might give 
iis trouble. 

The time of our visit depends entirely upon yourself, 
and if there is nothing to detain you here — 

Nothing whatever. I came here only for the pleasure 
of announcing my resignation, and of contemplating the 
bewildered countenances of my former constituents.^^ 

Then let us take time by the forelock. It would be 
better for them not to see us leave the club-house together, 
however. 

Very well. I will leave first, and wait for you in the 
street.'’^ 

M. Braconne returned to the count who had maintained 
the erect and motionless posture of a soldier under arms 
during this brief conversation, and proceeded to explain the 
arrangement that had been made. 

Vignory had already disappeared, and the game of he- 
sique was proceeding as quietly as if nothing had happened. 

M. de Sigoules, ,it is needless to say, Avas delighted with 
the arrangement his friend had made, and agreed Avith him 
in thinking that the plan must be carried into execution 
immediately. 

They found Vignory walking up and down the street 
only a short distance from the club-house; and he began 
the conversation by protestations of regard, Avhich the 
count cut short by saying: 

I am already under great obligations to you, sir, and 
the knowledge is not distasteful, as you no longer serve a 


168 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


government I shall never recognize. To prove that my 
gratitude does not weigh heavily upon me, I beg you to tell 
me the truth in regard to Louis Chancelade^s escape. 

I would gladly tell you, sir, if I could, but I really do 
not know. I can only conjecture, and — this, of course, is 
only between ourselves — I am strongly of the opinion that 
some one was kind enough to open the door for him.'^^ 
Then you think that the jailer was bribed 
I am rather more inclined to think that the jailer ^s 
pretty wife was the culprit. 

She — or the relative who was staying with her.-^^ 

Oh, I can give you full particulars in regard to Tier. 
She was not in the least related to Mme. Marteau, and I 
feel sure that she had nothing whatever to do with the 
escape of the prisoner. She was a young lady whom I 
knew very well in Paris, and who was seized with an absurd 
desire to drop down upon me unawares. You can under- 
stand my position. At that time I was anxious to retain 
my office, and so resolved to get rid of my unexpected vis- 
itor at . any cost. It happened that she and Mme. Marteau 
had been friends in former years, so I suggested that she 
should pass herself off as a cousin, and the amiable wife of 
the head- jailer consented to the arrangement. But here 
come the president and the doctor. They can give us an 
account of their visit to the procicreur.^’ 

The gentlemen mentioned did not appear to be very well 
satisfied with the result of their visit. Their greeting was 
almost ceremonious, for the presence of the sub-prefect ex- 
ercised a constraint over M. Bourdeille and M. Thiviers, 
who were astonished to see the Count de Sigoules in such 
company. 

The old nobleman understood the situation, and endeav- 
ored to set his friends at ease by saying: 

You can speak without reserve, gentlemen. Monsieur 
Vignory has just tendered his resignation, and he is quite 
ready to aid us in defending the innocent. 

The doctor and his companion exchanged glances; and it 
was very evident that they did not believe a word of this 
statement. 

^‘^We have to deal with a jnan who will not yield to 
evidence, remarked M. Thivier. This prociireur pre- 
tends that the discovery of the weapon is of no importance 
.whatever. The judge of instruction does not agree with 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


169 


him^ but he can not render a verdict of innocent in favor 
of a prisoner who has fled. 

^''Do they know that I am no longer sub-prefect?^^ in- 
quired Vignorv. hastily, 
think not."^^ 

Then let us make haste, my dear count, for the news 
will soon reach them — and Marteau will immediately re- 
ceive orders to refuse me admission into the prison. 

^^That is true/^ replied M. de Sigoules. ^‘^My dear 
president, I will soon see you again, but I must not loiter 
here. Monsieur Braconne and I are going to see Adhemar. 

So he proceeded on his way, leaving Louis Chancelade^s 
defenders convinced that the old nobleman had lost his 
senses. 

Vignorv led the way, and Braconne followed him. 

On reaching the prison, they instantly perceived that there 
had been some new developments there, as well as else- 
where. 

The gate stood wide open, and no one was guarding it. 

Have they all made their escape, like Chancelade?^^ 
muttered Vignory. We will see. Let us go up, gentle- 
men, I am familiar with the interior of the establishment. 

The staircase led straight to the jailer^s apartments, and 
there they found Mme. Marteau, busily engaged in super- 
intending the packing of several trunks. 

That fair lady on perceiving them, quickly drew herself 
up, smiled upon the Count de Sigoules, but darted a wither- 
ing glance at Vignory, who said, quite unmoved: 

A thousand pardons for disturbing you, madame. It 
is with Monsieur Marteau that we have business, and had 
I known — 

^^My hTisband has gone to your house, replied Aurelia, 
dryly. I am surprised that you did not meet him.'’^ 

I did not come from my house, but from the club. 
May I inquire what Monsieur Marteau desired of me?^^ 

Simply to tell you that his commission had just been 
revoked by telegraph — a dispatch brought here from Peri- 
gueux by a mounted gendarme. 

It gives me .pleasure to inform you that this same mes- 
senger had one for you, which he must have left at the 
prefecture before this time. 

I presume and hope that it is a notice of your dismissal, 
as well. 


170 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


My resignation must have passed it on the road, then. 
Yon are jnst packing yonr trunks, my dear madame; mine 
have been packed since day before yesterday; and if, as I 
suspect, you are about returning to Paris, I shall be delighted* 
to meet you there. 

And I sincerely hope I shall never set eyes on you again. 
My husband^s prospects are ruined, and you are the cause 
of it. Had I not been kind enough to shelter a woman 
who has shamefully deceived me, nothing of this kind would 
have happened.-’^ 

You are very severe upon poor Coralie.^^ 

What! in the presence of these gentlemen you dare — 
^^Oh! I have just given them a history of the alfair, 
and they laughed heartily. I will hasten to add that I am 
quite willing to assume the whole responsibility of the 
joke. If the minister had condescended to question me, 
before dismissing Monsieur Marteau, I should have told 
him that neither you nor your husband were to blame — 
and you can testify that I said as much to the other author- 
ities, the day after Chancelade^s escape. 

And now if you will be so kind as to tell me how and 
why our dear friend left us — 

How she left us, I really can not say. She did not even 
think it necessary to tell me that she was going. She 
probably felt that she could not remain any longer after 
having so deeply injured my husband and myself. She 
acted wisely, for I should certainly have turned her out of 
the house. 

Then turning to M. de Sigoules, Mme. Marteau con- 
tinued : 

Pardon me, sir, for dwelling so long upon a foolish 
affair that can not interest you in the least. You cer- 
tainly did not come here to see my husband, like the 
sub-prefect, and if you will kindly explain the object of 
your visit — 

Ah, well, madame,^'’ began the old nobleman, in very 
evident embarrassment, Monsieur Vignory encouraged me 
to hope that your husband would allow me to see my 
young cousin. Monsieur de Mussidan, but as Monsieur Mar- 
teau is absent — 

He is not only absent, but he is no longer head- jailer, 
having been dismissed so unceremoniously that he is going 
to leave without waiting for the arrival of his successor. 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


171 


He is anxious to state the facts of the case to the gentle- 
man to whom he owed his appointment^ and with whom 
you are well acquainted. I feel positiye that justice will 
he done him in Paris. In the meantime, I should be de- 
lighted to oblige you. I have not the power to insure you 
a private conversation with Monsieur de Mussidan, but he 
is now in the prison-yard. I am in my own apartments, 
and there is nothing to hinder me from opening this win- 
dow, which overlooks the court-yard in which he is prom- 
enading. 

She suited the action to the words, and M. de Sigoules 
perceived a few feet below him Adhemar de Mussidan, 
who glanced up on hearing the window open. 

Why, uncle, is that you?"^ he exclaimed. I am very 
glad to see you; but what the deuce are you doing here.^ 
Have you come to bring an order for my release?^*’ 

Hot yet, my dear fellow; but I hope that day will soon 
come,^^ replied the count. 

And turning to Mme. Marteau, who was standing directly 
behind him, he remarked : 

^^He calls me his uncle, I suppose you notice. That 
is only because I am thirty-five years older than he is.-^^ 

Aurelie stepped forward, and Adhemar saluted her with 
a wave of the hand, and a smile that furnished Vignory 
with abundant food for refiection. 

The conversation was about to become general, when a 
keeper who was smoking his pipe in a corner of the 
court-yard, came up to put an end to it by returning 
the prisoner to his cell. 

Vignory had burned his ships behind him. He was no 
longer afraid to interfere, so in his most commanding 
voice, he called out to the keeper to let M. de Mussidan 
alone. 

The subordinate dared not disobey the sub-prefect, so 
M. de Sigoules continued: 

am exerting myself* to the uttermost in your behalf, 
and some very infiuential personages promise me that you 
shall not be detained here much longer. Monsieur Mar- 
teau has been called back to Paris, and as his successor 
will probably be less considerate in his treatment of you, 

1 am laboring zealously to insure your speedy release. 
In the meantime, you will be glad to learn that I am 
also working for Louis Chancelade.-^^ 


T7^ 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


hope he has not been recaptured. 

'Noy and it is satisfactorily proved now that it was not 
he who killed the commissioner. The weapon used by the 
assassin has just been discovered— a superb English" rifle 
manufactured by Manton— the like of which Ohancelade 
never possessed. You have heard of Manton, the best 
gunsmith in London 

Certainly. And what has been done with this rifle?"" 

‘^^It has been taken to the judge of instruction, who will 
be sure to discover its owner. "" 

^^An excellent idea! So you say, my dear uncle, that 
your Paris friends are trying hard to get me out of prison; 
and, to tell you the truth, I am not sorry, as everybody 
seems likely to leave town. If your friends succeed, I shall 
hasten to Paris to thank them in person. I wish you would 
send me some cigars,"" he continued, lightly; ‘"mine are 
nearly gone. I have been deprived of almost every com- 
fort since Ohancelade made his escape, though that, of 
course, was no fault of mine."" 

""You shall have a box to-morrow."" 

To-morrow my husband will not be here,"" said Mme. 
Marteau, ""and after our departure I can vouch for 
nothing."" 

"" Then, madame, I shall think of you, to console me for 
the loss of my cigars,"" replied the prisoner, gallantly. 

M. Braconne, who had played the part of a silent spec- 
tator up to this time, now pulled the count by the sleeve 
and whispered: 

""I fear we are abusing madame"s kindness; besides, if 
Monsieur Marteau should return we would probably have a 
rather unpleasant scene with him."" 

Aurelie did not contradict this assertion, and the old 
count felt that the interview must end immediately. 

""Trust tome, my boy,"" he cried, affectionately, ""an- - 
other week shall not pass without my bringing you good 
news."" 

Having made this rather rash promise, he closed the win- 
dow, and took leave of Mme. Marteau, thanking her for her 
kindness in no measured terms. 

Vignory contented hiipself with bowing even more coldly - 
than M. Braconne, and they went out together. 

On reaching the street the ex-prefect felt that he was de 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


173 


trop, and had the tact to direct his steps toward the sub- 
exchange of a few commonplaces.' 

My dear Braconne/' said the count, I am beginning 
to coinprehend the- situation a little more clearly; but in 

L understanding of it, I think I 

shall be obliged to pay a yisit to Paris." 

n jailer’s pretty wife. Made- 

moiselle Corahe, Vignory, and perhaps CMncelade. It 

Sed it Sfnf «• 


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quel to “ Birds of Prey ”).... 20 
557 To the Bitter End 20 

559 Taken at the Flood !** 20 

560 Asphodel ! ! * ! ! 20 

561 Just as I am ; or, A Living Lie 20 

567 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

570 John March rnont’s Legacy. ... 20 
618 The Mistletoe Bough. Christ- 
mas, 1885. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon .> ^2(^ ^ 


Miss M. E. Braddon’s Works. 

35 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

56 Phantom Fortune 20 

74 Aurora Floyd 20 

110 Under the Red Flag 10 

153 The Golden Calf 20 

204 Vixen 20 

211 The Octoroon 10 

234 Barbara; or, Splendid Misery. . 20 

263 An Ishmaelite 20 

315 The Mistletoe Bough. Edited 

by Miss Braddon 20 

434 Wyllard’s Weird 20 

478 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daugh- • ' 

ter. Parti 20 

478 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. Part II 20 

480 Married in Haste. Edited by 
Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

487 Put to the Test. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

488 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter.. . . 20 

489 Rupert God win 20 

495 Mount Royal 20 

496 Only a Woman. Edited by Miss 

M.E. Braddon 20 

497 The Lady’s Mile 20 

498 Only a Clod 20 

499 The Cloven Foot 20 

511 A Strange World 20 

515 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

524 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

529 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

542 Fenton’s Quest 20 

544 Cut by the County; or, Grace 

Darnel 10 

548 The Fatal Marriage, and The 
Shadow in the Corner 10 


Works by Charlotte M. Braeme^ 
AiUhor of “Dora Thorne.” 

19 Her Mother’s Sin 10 

51 Dora Thorne 20 

54 A Broken Wedding-Ring ! 20 

68 A Queen Amongst Women 10 

69 Madolin’s Lover 20 

73 Redeemed by Love !!!!!! 20 

76 Wife in Name Only !! 20 

79 Wedded and .Parted ! 10 

92 Lord Lynne’s Choice 10 

148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. . 10 

190 Romance of a Black Veil 10 

220 Which Loved Him Best? 10 

237 Repented at Leisure 20' 

249 “ Prince Charlie’s Daughter ” . . 10 

250 Sunshine and Roses; or, Di- 

ana’s Discipline 10 

254 The Wife’s Secret, and Fair 

but False lo 

283 The Sin of a Lifetime 10 

287 At War With Herself 10 

288 From Gloom to Sunlight 10 

291 Love’s Warfare lo 

292 A Golden Heart ! 10 

j393 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

^94 Hilda lo 

295 A Woman’s War 10 

296 A Rose in Thorns 10 

297 Hilary’s Folly 10 

299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from the Sea 10 

300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

Love 10- 

303 Ingledew House, and More Bit- 

ter than Death 10 

304 In Cupid’s Net 10 

305 A Dead Heart, and Lady (Gwen- 
doline’s Dream 10 

306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for 

a Day jo 

307 Two Kisses, and Like no Other .... 

Love 10 

308 Be.yond Pardon 20 

411 A Bitter Atonement 20 

433 M.y Sister Kate 10 

459 A Woman’s Temptation 20 

460 Under a Shadow 20 

465 The Earl’s Atonement ^ 

466 Between Two Loves ^ 

467 A Struggle for a Ring ^ 


THE SEASIDE LIBBART.— Pocket Edition. 


Works by Charlotte M. Braeme— 
Continued. 

469 Lady Damer’s Secret 20 

470 Evelyn’s Folly 20 

471 Thrown on the World 20 

476 Between Two Sins 10 

516 But Asunder ; or. Lady Castle- 

maine’s Divorce 20 

176 Her Martyrdom 20 


Charlotte Bronte’s Works. 

15 Jane Eyre ^ 

57 Shirley 20 

Rhoda Broughton’s Works. 

86 Belinda 20 

101 Second Thoughts 20 

227 Nancy 20 

645 Mrs. Smith of Longmains 10 

Robert Buchanan’s Works. 

145 “ Storm-Beaten God and The 

Man 20 

154 Annan Water 20 

181 The New Abelard 10 

S98 Matt : A Tale of a Caravan. . . . 10 

646 The Master of the Mine 10 

Captain Fred Burnaby’s Works. 

B75 A Ride to Khiva 20 

384 On Horseback Through Asia 

Minor 20 

E. Fairfax Byrrne’s Works. 

521 Entangled 20 

538 A Fair Country Maid 20 

Hall- Caine’s Works. 

445 The Shadow of a Crime 20 

520 She’s All the World to Me 10 

Rosa Nouchette Carey’s Works. 

215 Not Like Other Girls 20 

396 Robert Ord’s Atonement...... 20 

551 Barbara Heathcote’s Trial . . . 20 

608 For Lilias 20 

Wilkie Collins’s Works. 

52 The New Magdalen 

102 The Moonstone 

167 Heart and Science 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 

'175 Love’s Random Shot 

2^ “ I Say No or, The Love-Let- 
ter Answered 

508 The Girl at the Gate 

591 The Queen of Hearts 

613 The Ghost’s Touch, and Percy 

and the Prophet 

623 My Lady’s Money 


Hugh Conway’s Works. 

240 Called Back 10 

251 The Daughter of the Stars, and 

Other Tales 10 

301 Dark Days , 10 

302 The Blatchford Bequest 10 

502 Carriston’s Gift 10 

525 Paul Vargas, and Other Stories 10' 

543 A Family Affair 20 

601 Slings and Arrows, and Other 

Stories 10 


J. Fenimore Cooper’s Works. 

60 The Last of the Mohicans 20 

63 The Spy 20 

309 The Pathfinder 20 

310 The Prairie 20 

318 The Pioneei-s ; or. The Sources 

of the Susquehanna 20 

349 The Two Admirals 20 

359 The Water-Witch 20 

.361 The Red Rover 20 

373 Wing and Wing 20 

378 Homeward Bound; or, The 

Chase 20 

379 Home as Found. (Sequel to 

“ Homeward Bound”) 20 

380 Wyandotte ; or. The Hutted 

Knoll 20 

385 The Headsman; or, The Ab- 

baye des Vignerons 2ft 

394 The Bravo 20 

397 Lionel Lincoln; or. The Leag- 
uer of Boston 20 

400 The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish. . . 2ft 

413 Afloat and Ashore 2ft 

414. Miles Wallipgford. (Sequel to 

“Afloat and Ashore”) 20 

415 The Ways of the Hour 20 

416 Jack Tier ; or. The Florida Reef 2ft 

419 The Chainbearer ; or,The Little- 

page Manuscripts 20 

420 Satanstoe ; or. The Littlepage 

Manuscripts 20 

421 The Redskins; or, Indian and 

Injin. Being the conclusion 
of the Littlepage Manuscripts 20 

422 Precaution 20 

423 The Sea Lions; or. The Lost 

Sealers 20 

424 Mercedes of Castile; or. The 

Voyage to Cathay 2ft 

425 The Oak-Openings ; or, The Bee- 

Hunter 20 

431 The Monikins 20 


Georglana M. Craik’s Works. 

450 Godfrey Helstone 2ft 

606 Mrs. Hollyer 20 


B. M. Croker’s Works. 

207 Pretty Miss Neville 20 

260 Proper Pride 10 

412 Some One Else •• 20 


10 

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TEE SEASIDE LIBRABY.— Pocket Edition. 


Alphonse Daudet’s Works. 

534 Jack 20 

574 The Nabob : A Story of Parisian 

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Charles Dickens’s Works. 

10 The Old Curiosity Shop 20 

22 David Copperfield. Vol. 1 20 

22 David Copperfield. Vol. IT — 20 

^ Pickwick Papers. Vol. 1 20 

Pickwick Papers. Vol. II 20 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. First half. 20 
37 Nicholas Nickleby. Second half 20 

41 Oliver Twist 20 

77 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

84 Hard Times 10 

91 Barnaby Budge. 1st half 20 

91 Barnaby Budge. 2d half 20 

94 Little Dorrit. First half 20 

94 Little Dorrit. Second half 20 

106 Bleak House. First half 20 

106 Bleak House. Second half — 20 

107 Dombey and Son. 1st half — 20 

107 Dombey and Son. 2d half 20 

108 The Cricket on the Hearth, and 

Doctor Marigold 10 

131 Our Mutual Friend 40 

132 Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

152 The Uncommercial Traveler. . . 20 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 10 

169 The Haunted Man 10 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 

Chuzzlewit. First half 20 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 

Chuzzlewit. Second half 20 

439 Great Expectations 20 

440 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings 10 

447 American Notes 20 

448 Pictures From Italy, and The 

Mudfog Papers, &c 20 

4.54 The Mystery of Edwin Drood. . 20 
456 Sketches by Boz. Illustrative 
of Every-day Life and Every- 
day People 20 

F. Du Boisgobey’s Works. 

82 Sealed Lips 20 

104 The Coral Pin 30 

264 Pi^douche, a French Detective. 10 
328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 

First half 20 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 

Second half 20 

453 The Lotterj^ Ticket 20 

475 The Prima Donna’s Husband. . 20 

522 Zig-Zag, the Clown ; or. Steel 

Gauntlets. • • 

523 The Consequences of a Duel. A 

Parisian Bomance 

648 The Angel of the Bells 

“The Duchesses’’ Works. 

2 Molly Bawm 

6 Portia 

14 Airy Fairy Lilian 

16 Phyllis..... 

?25 Mrs. Geoff rej’^ 


29 Beauty’s Daughters 10 

30 Faith and Unfaith 20 

118 Loys, Lord Berresford, and 

Eric Dering 10 

119 Monica, and A Bose Distill’d. .. 10 

123 Sweet is True Love 10 

129 Bossmoyne. 10 

134 The Witching Hour, and Other 

Storie.s 10 

136 “That Last Behearsal,” and 

Other Stories 10 

166 Moonshine and Marguerites. ... 10 

171 Fortune’s Wheel 10 

284 Doris 10 

312 A Week in Killarney 10 

342 The Baby, and One New Year’s 

Eve....: 10 

390 Mildred Trevanion 10 

404 In Durance Vile, and Other 

Stories 10 

486 Dick’s Sweetheart 20 

494 A Maiden All Forlorn, and Bar- 
bara 10 

517 A Passive Crime, and Other 

Stories 10 

.541 “ As It Fell Upon a Day.” 10 

Alexander Dumas’s Works. 

55 The Three Guardsmen 20 

75 Twenty Years After 20 

259 The Bride of Monte-Cristo. A 
Sequel to “The Count of 

Monte-Cristo ” 10 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Part I 20 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 
Part II 20 


George Eliot’s Works. 

3 The Mill on the Floss 20 

36 Adam Bede 20 

31 Middlemarch. 1st half 20 

31 Middlemarch. 2d half 20 

34 Daniel Deronda. 1st half 20 

34 Daniel Deronda. 2d half 20 

42 Bomola 20 

B. li. Farjeon’s Works. 

179 Little Make-Believe 10 

573 Love’s Harvest 20 

607 Self-Doomed 10 

616 The Sacred Nugget 20 

6.57 Christmas Angel 10 

G, Manville Fenn’s Works. 

193 The Bosery Folk 10 

558 Poverty Corner 20 

587 The Parson o’ Dumford 20 

609 The Dark House 10 

Octave Feuillet’s Works. 

66 The Bomance of a Poor Young 

Man 10 

.386 Led Astray; or, “La Petite 
Comtesse ” 10 


20 

20 

20 


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10 

20 

20 

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'Mrs. Forrester’s Works. 

80 June 20 

280J^mnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 

ciety 10 

484 J^lthough He Was a Lord, and 
Other Tales 10 

Jessie Fothergill’s Works. 

314 Peril..... >v. 20 

572 Healey... 20 

R. E. Francillou’s Works. 

135 A Great Heiress : A Fortune 

in Seven Checks 10 

319 Face to Face : A Fact in Seven 

Fables 10 

360 Ropes of Sand 20 

656 The Golden Flood. By R. E. 

Francillon and Wm. Senior.. 10 

Emile Gaboriau’s Works. 

7. File No. 113 20 

12 Other People’s Money 20 

20 Within an Inch of His Life. ... 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. Vol 1 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. Vol. II 20. 

33 The Clique of Gold 10 

38 The Wido^Y Lerouge 20 

43 The Mystery of Orcival 20 

144 Promises of Marriage 10 

Charles Gibbon’s Works. 

64 A Maiden Fair 10 

317 By Mead and Stream 20 

Miss Grant’s Works. 

222 The Sun-Maid 20 

555 Cara Roma 20 

Thomas Hardy’s Works. 

139 The Romantic Adventures of 

a Milkmaid 10 

530 A Pair of Blue Eyes 20 

John B« Harwood’s Works. 

143 One False, Both Fair.A^ 20 

358 Within the Clasp ^ 20 

Mary Cecil Hay’s Works. 

65 Back to the Old Home 10 

72 Old Myddelton’s Money 20 

196 Hidden Perils 10 

197 For Her Dear Sake 20 

224 The Arundel Motto W 

281 The Squire’s Legacy ^ 

290 Nora’s Love Test 20 

408 Lester’s Secret 20 

678 Dorothy’s Venture 20 

Works by the Author of “Judith 
Wynne.” 

332 Judith Wynne ^ 

506 Lady Lovelace 20 


William H. G. Kingston’s Works» 

117 A Tale of the Shore and Ocean. 20 
133 Peter the Whaler 10 

Charles Lever’s Works. 

191 Harry Lorrequer 20 

212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dra- 
goon. First half 20 

212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dra- 
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243 Tom Burke of “Ours.” First 

half 20 

243 Tom Burke of “ Ours.” Sec- 
ond half 20 

Mary Linskill’s Works. 

473 A Lost Son 20 

620 Between the Heather and the 

Northern Sea 20 

Samuel Lover’s Works. 

663 Handy Andy ^ 

664 Rory O’More 20 

Sir E. Bulwer Lytton’s ’Works. 

40 The Last Days of Pompeii 20 

83 A Strange Story 20 

90 Ernest Maltravers 20 

130 The Last of the Barons. First 

half 20 

130 The Last of the Barons. Sec- 
ond half 20 

162 Eugene Aram 20 

164 Leila ; or, The Siege of Grenada 10 
650 Alice; or. The Mysteries. (A Se- 
quel to “ Ernest Maltravers ”) 20 

George Macdonald’s Works. 

282 Donal Grant 20 

325 The Portent 10 

326 Phantasies. A Faerie Romance 

for Men and Women 10 


( 5 ) 


159 

183 

208 

276 

444 

449 


88 

272 


13 

221 

438 

535 

673 


Florence Marry at’ s W^orks. 

A Moment of Madness, and 

Other Stories 10 

Old Contrairy, and Other 

Stories 10 

The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, 

and Other Stories 10 

Under the Lilies and Roses.... 10 

The Heart of Jane Warner 20 

Peeress and Player 20 

Captain Marry at’ s Works. 

The Privateersman 20 

The Little Savage - 10 

Helen B. Mathers’ s Works. 

Eyre’s Acquittal 10 

Cornin’ Thro’ the Rye 20 

Found Out 10 

Murder or Manslaughter? 10 

Story of a Sin 20 


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Justin McCarthy’s Works. 

121 Maid of Athens 20 

602 Camiola 20 

685 England Under Gladstone. 

1880—1885 20 

Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller’s 
Works. 

267 L^irel Vane; or, The Girls’ 

---Conspiracy 20 

268 Lady Gay’s Pride; or, The 

Miser’s Treasure 20 

269 Lancaster’s Choice 20 

316 Sworn to Silence; or. Aline 

Rodney’s Secret 20 

Jean Middlemas’s Works. 

155 Lady Muriel’s Secret 20 

539 Silvermead 20 

Alan Muir’s Works. 

172 “Golden Girls” 20 

346 Tumbledown Farm 10 

Miss Mulock’s Works. 

11 John Halifax, Gentleman.... .. 20 

245 Miss Tommy 10 

David Christie Murray’s Works. 

58 By the Gate of the Sea 10 

195 “ The Way of the World ” 20 

320 A Bit of Human Nature 10 

661 Rainbow Gold c. .. 20 

674 First Person Singular 20 


Works by the author of “ My 
Ducats and My Daughter.” 

376 The Crime of Christmas Day. 10 
596 My Ducats and My Daughter. .. 20 


^ W. E. Norris’s Works. 


m-Thirlby Hall 20 

277 A Man of His Word 10 

355 That Terrible Man 10 

500 Adrian Vidal 20 


377 Magdalen Hepburn : A Story of 

the Scottish Reformation — 20 
402 Lilliesleaf ; or, Passages in the 
Life of Mrs. Margaret Mait- 


land of Sunnyside 20 

410 Old Lady Mary 10 

527 The Days of My Life 20 

528 At His Gates. 20 . 

568 The Perpetual Curate 20 

569 Harry Muir 20 

603 Agnes. 1st half 20 

603 Agnes. 2d half 20 

604 Innocent. 1st half 20 

604 Innocent. 2d half 20 

605 Ombra 20 « 

645 Oliver’s Bride 10 

655 The Open Door, and The Por- 
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‘‘ Ouida’s ” Works. 

4 Under Two Flags 20 

9 Wanda, Countess von Szalras.. 20 

116 Moths 20 

128 Afternoon and Other Sketches. 10 

226 Friendship 20 

228 Princess Napraxine 20 

238 Pascarel 20 

239 Signa 20 

433 A Rainy June 10 

63^jjQthmar 20 

eif^Ddn Gesualdo 10 

6|2 In Maremma. First half 20 

6fe In Maremma. Second half — 20 

\ James Payn’s Works. 

4^ Thicker Than W-ater 20 

186 The Canon’s Ward 20 

343 The Talk of the Town 20 

577 In Peril and Privation 10 

589 The Luck of the Darrells 20 

Cecil Power’s Works. 

336 Philistia. 20 

611 Babylon 20 

Mrs. Campbell Praed’s Works. 

428 Zero: A Story of Monte-Carlo. 10 
477 Affinities 10 


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47 Altiora Peto 20 

537 Piccadilly 10 

Mrs. Oliphant’t* Works. 

45 A Little Pilgrim 10 

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205 The Minister’s Wife 30 

321 The Prodigals, and Their In- 
heritance 10 

337 Memoirs and Resolutions of 
Adam Graeme of Mossgray, 
including some Chronicles of 

the Borough of Fendie 20 

345 Madam 20 

351 The House ®n the Moor 20 

Jo hn 20 

370 Lucy Crof ton 10 

**"’3T4^,Margaret Maitland 20 


Eleanor C. Price’s Works. 

173 The Foreigners 20 

331 Gerald 20 

Charles Reade’s Works. 

46 Very Hard Cash 20 

98 A Woman-Hater 20 

206 The Picture, and Jack of All 

Trades 10 

210 Readiana: Comments on Cur- 
rent Events 10 

213 A Terrible Temptation 20 

214 Put Yourself in His Place 20 

216 Foul Play 20 

231 Griffith Gaunt; or. Jealousy... 20 

232 Love and Money ; or, A Perilous 

Secret 10 

235 “It is Never Too Late to 
Mend.” A Matter- of-Fact Ro- 
mance 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBBAEY,— Pocket Edition. 


Mrs. J. H. Riddell’s Vvorks. 


71 A Struggle for Fame 20 

593 Berna Boyle 20 

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252 A Sinless Secret 10 

AAe. jaorv.o. Durden 20 

598 “ Corinna.” A Study 10 

^6}2 »Like Dian’s Kiss 20 


Frank E. Smedley’s Works. 

333 Frank Fairlegh; or. Scenes 
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Pupil 20 

562 Lewis Arundel; or, The Rail- 
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T. W. Speight’s Works. 

150 For Himself Alone 10 

653 A Barren Title 10 


F. W. Robinson’s Works. 

157 Milly’sHero 20 

217 The Man She Cared For 20 

261 A Fair Maid 20 

455 Lazarus in London 20 

690 The Courting of Mary Smith. . . 20 


W. Clark Russell’s Works. 

85 A Sea Queen 20 

109 Little Loo 20 

180 Round the Galley Fire 10 

209 John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. . 10 

223 A Sailor’s Sweetheart 20 

592 A Strange Voyage 20 

6^ In the Middle Watch. Sea 
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Sir Walter Scott’s Works. 

28 Ivanhoe 20 

201 The Monastery 20 

202 The Abbot. (Sequel to “ The « 

Monastery ”) 20 

S53 The Black Dwarf, and A Le- 
gend of Montrose : 20 

362 The Bride of Lammermoor 20 

363 The Surgeon’s Daughter 10 

364 Castle Dangerous 10 

391 The Heart of Mid-Lothian 20 

392 Peveril of the Peak 20 

393 The Pirate 20 

401 Waverley 20 

417 The Fair Maid of Perth; or, St. 

Valentine’s Day — 20 

418 St. Ronan’s Well 20 

463 Redgauntlet. A Tale of the 

Eighteenth Century 20 

607 Chronicles of the Canongate, 

and Other Stories 10 


Eugene Sue’s Works. 

270 The Wandering Jew. Parti... 20 

270 The Wandering Jew. Part H. . 20 

271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part I. 20 
^1 The Mysteries of Paris. Part II. 20 

George Temple’s Works. 


599 Lancelot Ward, M.P 10 

642 Britta 10 

William M. Thackeray’s Works. 

27 Vanity Fair 20 

165 The History of Henry Esmond. 20 

464 The Newcomes. Parti 20 

464 The Newcomes. Part II 20 

531 The Prime Minister (1st half).. 20 
531 The Prime Minister (2d half).. 20 

Annie Thomas’s Works. 

141 She Loved Him! 10 

J42^ enifer 20 

s^*No Medium 10 

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32 The Land Leaguers 20 

93 Anthony Trollope’s Autobiog- 
raphy 20 

147 Rachel Ray 20 

200 An Old Man’s Love 10 

531 The Prime Minister. 1st half. . 20 
531 The Prime Minister. 2d half... 20 

621 The Warden 10 

622 Harry Heatheote of Gangoil. . . 10 
667 The Golden Lion of Granpere.. 20 

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298 Mitchelhurst Place 10 

586 “ For Percival” 20 


William Sime’s Works. 
429 Boulderstone ; or. New Men and 


Old Populations 10 

580 The Red Route 20 

597 Haco the Dreamer 10 

649 Cradle and Spade 20 


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348 From Post to Finish. A Racing 

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367 Tie and Trick 20 

550 Struck Down 10 


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87 Dick Sand; or, A Captain at 

Fifteen 20 

100 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas. 20 
368 The Southern Star ; or, the Dia- 
mond Land 20 

395 The Archipelago on Fire 10 

578 Mathias Sandorf. Dlustrated. 

Part 1 10 

578 Mathias Sandorf. Illustrated.'» 

Part II 10 

578 Mathias Sandorf. Illustrated. 
Part HI 20 


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I.. B. Walfoid’s Works. 

241 The Baby’s Grandmother 10 

256 Mr. Smith : A Part of His Life . 20 

258 Cousins 20 

658 The History of a Week 10 

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192 At the World’s Mercy 20 

248 The House on the Marsh 10 

286 Deldee; or, The Iron Hand 20 

482 A Vagrant Wife 20 

556 A Prince of Darkness 20 

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327 Raymond’s Atonement 20 

<l*^jLAt a High Price 20 

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^409 Bpy’s Wife 20 

4 §rAlarket Harborough, and Inside 

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600 Houp-La. Illustrated 10 

638 In Quarters with the 25th (The 

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8 East Lynne 20 

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508 The Unholy Wish 10 

513 Helen Whitney’s Wedding, and 

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514 The Mystery of Jessy Page, and 

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610 The Story of Dorothy Grape, 

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115 Diamond Cut Diamond. T. 

Adolphus Trollope 10' 

120 Tom Brown’s School Days at 

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122 lone Stewart. Mrs. E. Lynn 

Linton 20 

127 Adrian Bright. Mrs. Caddy 20 

149 The Captain’s Daughter. From 

the Russian of Pushkin 10 

151 The Ducie Diamonds. C. Blath- 

erwick 10 

156 “For a Dream’s Sake.” Mrs. 

Herbert Martin 20 

158 The Starling. Norman Mac- 
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160 Her Gentle Deeds. Sarah Tyt- 

ler 10 

161 The Lady of Lyons. Founded 

on the Play of that title by 

Lord Ly tton 10 

163 Winifred Power. Joyce Dar- 
rell 20 

170 A Great Treason. Mary Hop- 
pus 30 

174 Under a Ban. Mrs. Lodge 20 

176 An April Day. Philippa Prit- 

tie Jephson 10 

178 More Leaves from the Journal 
of a Life in the Highlands. 

Queen Victoria 10 

182 The Millionaire 20 

185 Dita. Lady Margaret Majendie 10 
187 The Midnight Sun. Fredrika 

Bremer 10 

198 A Husband’s Story 10 

203 John Bull and His Island. Max 

O’Rell 10 

218 Agnes Sorel. G. P. R. James. . 20 

219 Lady Clare : or. The Master of 

the Forges. From French of 

Georges Ohnet 10 

242 The Two Orphans. D’Ennery. 10 


Charlotte M. Yonge’s Works. 


247 The Armourer's Prentices 10 

275 The Three Brides 10 

5^ Henrietta’s Wish. A Tale 10 

563 The Two Sides of the Shield.. . . 20 

640riftittie’s Father 20 

e^Tl^Dove in the Eagle’s Nest.. 20 
6oO*Myioung Alcides 20 

Miscellaneous. 

(53 The Story of Ida. Francesca. . 10 
'^i«^arlotte Temple. Mrs. Row- 

son 10 

99 Barbara’s History. Amelia B. 

Edwards 20 

103 Rose Fleming. Dora Russell.. 10 
105 A Noble Wife. John Saunders 20 

111 The Little School-master Mark. 

J. H. Shorthouse 10 

112 The Waters of Marab. John 

Hill 20 

113 Mrs. Carr’s Companion. M. G. 

Wight wick 10 

114 Some of Our Girls. Mrs. C. J. 

Eiloart 20 


253 The Amazon. Carl Vosmaer. . 10 
257 Beyond Recall. Adeline Ser- 
geant 10 

266 The Water-Babies. Rev. Chas. 

Kingsley 10 

274 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 
Princess of Great Britain and 
Ireland. Biographical Sketch 

and Letters 10 

279 Little Goldie : A Story of Wom- 
an’s Love. Mrs. Sumner Hay- 
den 1 . 20 

2a5 The Gambler’s Wife 20 

289 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 
True Light. A “ Brutal Sax- 
on ” 10 

311 Two Years Before the Mast. R. 

H. Dana, Jr 20 

313 The Lover’s Creed. Mrs. Cash- 
el Hoey 20 

322 A Woman’s Love-Story 10 

323 A Willful Maid 20 

329 The Polish Jew. (Translated 

from the French by Caroline 
A. Merighi.) Erckmann Chat- 
rian • 10 


( 8 ) 


THE SEASIDE L1BRAB7.— Docket Edition. 


Miscellaneous— Coufiniied. 

330 May Blossom ; or, Between Two 

Loves. Margaret Lee 20 

334 A Marriage* of Convenience. 

Harriett Jay 10 

335 The White Witch 20, 

338 The Family Difficulty. Sarah 

Doudney 10 

340 Under Which King? Compton 

Reade 20 

341 Madolin Rivers ; or, The Little 

Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

Laura Jean Libbey 20 

347 As Avon Flows. Henry Scott 

Vince 20 

350 Diana of the Crossways. George 

Meredith 10 

352 At Any Cost. Edward Garrett. 10 

354 The Lottery of Life. A Story 

of New York Twenty Years 
Ago. John Brougham 20 

355 The Princess Dagomar of Po- 

land. Heinrich Felbermann. 10 

356 A Good Hater. Frederick Boyle 20 

365 George Ctiristy; or, The For- 

tunes of a Minstrel. Tony 
Pastor 20 

366 The Mysterious Hunter; or, 

The Man of Death. Capt. L. 

C. Carleton 20 

369 Miss Bretherton. Mrs. Hum- 
phry Ward 10 

374 The Dead Man’s Secret. Dr. 

Jupiter Paeon 20 

381 The Red Cardinal. Frances 

Elliot 10 

382 Three Sisters. Elsa D’Esterre- 

Keeling 10 

383 Introduced to Society. Hamil- 

ton Aide 10 

387 The Secret of the Cliffs. Char- 
lotte French 20 

389 Ichabod. A Portrait. Bertha 

Thomas 10 

399 Miss Brown. Vernon Lee 20 

403 An EDgli.sh Squire. C. R. Cole- 
ridge 20 

405 My Friends and I. Edited by 

Julian Sturgis 10 

406 The Merchant’s Clerk. Samuel 

Warren 10 

407 Tylney Hall. Thomas Hood. .. 20 
426 Venus’s Doves. Ida Ashworth 

Taylor 20 

430 A Bitter Reckoning. Author 

of “By Crooked Paths ” — 10 
432 The Witch’s Head. H. Rider 

Haggard 20 

435 Klytia : A Story of Heidelberg 

Castle. George Taylor gO 

436 Stella. Fanny Lewiild 20 

441 A Sea Change. Flora L. Shaw. 20 

442 Ranthorpe. George Henry 

Lewes 20 

443 The Bachelor of the Albany ... 10 
452 In the W'est Countrie. May 

Crommelin 20 1 


457 The Russians at the Gates of 

Herat. Charles Marvin 10 

458 A Week of Passion ; or, The 

Dilemma of Mr. George Bar- 
ton the Younger. Edward 

Jenkins 20 

lice’s Adventures in Wonder- 
land. Lewis Carrol 

With forty-two illustrations 

by John Tenniel 20 

468 The Fortunes, Good and Bad, 
of a Sewing-Girl. Charlotte 

M. Stanley 10 

474 Serapis. An Historical Novel. 

George Ebers 20 

479 Louisa. Katharine S. Macquoid 20 

483 Betwixt My Love and Me, 10 

485 Tinted Vapours. J. Maclaren 

Cobban 10 

491 Society in London. A Foreign 

Resident 10 

493 Colonel Enderby’s Wife. Lucas 

Malet 20 

501 Mr. Butler’s Ward. F. Mabel 

Robinson 20 

510 A Mad Love. Author of “ Lover 

and Lord” 10 

512 The Waters of Hercules 20 

504 Curly: An Actor’s Story. John 

Coleman 10 

505 The Society of London. Count 

Paul Vasili 10 

509 Nell Haffenden. Tighe Hopkins 20 

518 The Hidden Sin 20 

519 James Gordon’s Wife 20 

^26 Madame De Presnel. E. Fran- 

'P/-\x7nf at* 20 


10 

10 

10 

20 


cesPoynter. 

532 Arden Court. Barbara Graham 20 

536 Dissolving Views. By Mrs. An- 
drew Lang 

545 Vida’s Story. By the author of 

“ Guilty Without Crime ” 

546 Mrs. Keith’s Crime. A Novel . . 

533 Hazel Kirke. Marie Walsh .... 

566 The Royal Highlanders ; or. 

The Black Watch in Egypt. 

James Grant 20 

571 Paul Crew’s Story. Alice Co- 

my ns Carr 10 

575 The Finger of Fate. Captain 

Mayne Reid - 20 

581 The Betrothed. (I Promessi . 

Sposi.) Allessandro Manzoni 20 

582 Lucia, Hugh and Another. Mrs. 

J. H. Needed ; 20 

.583 Victory Deane. Cecil Griffith . . 20 

584 Mixed Motives 10 

595 A North Country Maid. Mrs. 

H. Lovett Cameron 20 

599 Lancelot Ward, M.P. George 

Temple 10 

612 My Wife’s Niece. By the author 

of “ Dr. Edith Romney ” 20 

614 No. 99. Arthur Griffiths 10 

624 Primus in Indis. M. J. Colqu- 

houn •• -10 

628 Wedded Hands. Author of 

“ My Lady’s Folly ” 20 


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634 The Unforeseen. Alice O’Han- 


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637 What’s His Offence? 20 

641 The Rabbi’s Spell. Stuart C. 
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643 The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey 

Crayon, Gent. Washington 
Irving 20 

644 A Girton Girl. Mrs. Annie Ed- 

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652 The Lady with the Rubies. E. 

Marlitt 20 

654 “ Us.” An Old-fashioned Story. 

Mrs. Molesworth 10 

662 The Mystery of Allan Grale. 
Isabella Fy vie Mayo 20 


675 Mrs. Dymond. Bliss Thackeray 20 
677 Griselda. Author of “ A Wom- 


an s Love-Story. ” 20 

668 Half-Way. An Anglo-French 
Romance 20 

679 Where Two Ways Bleet. Sarah *f 

Doudney 10’ 

681 A Singer's Story. Blay Laffan. 10 

683 The Bachelor Vicar of New- 

forth. BIrs. J. Harcourt-Roe . 20 

680 Fast and Loose. Arthur Grif- 

fiths 20 

684 Last Days at Apswich 10 

686 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and 

Mr. Hyde. Robert Louis 
Stevenson 10 


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643 The Sketch-book of Geoffrey 
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A Girton Girl. By Mrs. Annie 

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Mrs. Smith of Longmains. By 
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phant 10 

646 The Master of the Mine. By 

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<647 Goblin Gold. By May Crom- 

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648 The Angel of the Bells. By F. 

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649 Cradle and Spade. By William 

Sime 20 

'650 Alice ; or, The Mysteries. (A Se- 
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651 “Self or Bearer.” By Walter 

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653 A Barren Title. T. W. Speight 10 

654 “Us.” An Old-fashioned Story. 

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655 The Open Door, and The Por- 

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656 The Golden Flood. By R. E. 

Francillon and Wm. Senior... 10 

657 Christmas Angel. By B. L. 

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658 The Histoiy of a Week. By 

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659 The Waif of the “ Cynthia.” By 

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660 The Scottish Chiefs. By Miss 

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660 The Scottish Chiefs. By Miss 

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661 Rainbow Gold. By David Chris- 

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663 Handy Andy. By Samuel 

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666 My 'Yoths^f-'-ATtCtdes. By Char- 

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667 The Golden Lion of Granpere. 

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676 A Child’s History of England. 

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677 Griselda. By the author of “ A 

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678 Dorothy’s Venture. By Mary 

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679 Where Two Ways Meet. By 

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680 Fast and Loose. By Arthur 

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681 A Singer’s Story. By May Laf- 

fan 10 

682 In the Middle Watch. By W. 

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683 The Bachelor Vicar of New- 

forth. By Mrs. J. Harcourt- 
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684 Last Days at Apswich 10 

685 England Under Gladstone. 1880 

— 1885. By Justin H.McCarthy, 
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686 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and 

Mr. Hyde. By Robert Louis 

Stevenson 10 

688 A Man of Honor. By John 

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690 Far From the Madding Crowd. 

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691 Valentine Strange. By David 

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692 The Mikado, and Other Comic 

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694 John Maidment. By Julian 

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695 Hearts: Queen, Knave, and 

Deuce. By David Christie 

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697 The Pretty Jailer. By F. Du 

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700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony 

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No. 1. VOT I KNOW ’BOUT GRUEL SOCIETIES SPEAKEB. 
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No. 3. MY BOY TILHELM’S SPEAKER. 


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author of “ Manch,” and Florence A. Warden, author of “ The House on the 
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The December number of the New 
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which the lady patrons of the Bazar 
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The New York Fashion Bazar con- 
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The New York Fashion Bazar for 
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The December number of The New 
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The New York Fashion Bazar, a 
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The New York Fashion Bazar is 
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field Gazette and Courier. 

The Christmas number of George 
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is a feature of the season among the 
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Munro’s Publications. i 

The Seaside Library — Pocket Edition. 

Ml^ M. E. BKAPPON’S WOKKS. 


NEW 

tabernach; sermor: 

Preached in the Brooklyn Tabernacle 
By Bev. T. Be Witt Talinage, B. 

CONTENTS: 


35 Lady ludley’s Se- 
cret.,. 20 

56 Phantom Fortune.. 20 

74 Aurora Floyd. 20 

110 Under the Red Flag 10 
158 The Golden Gulf. ... 20 

204 Vixen 20 

211 The Octoroon 10 

234 Barbara; or, Spien. 

did lllsej-v m 

263 All nhiimelite 20 

315 The mistletoe 
Koiigli. Edited by 
miss Bniddon.... 20 
434 Wy Hard's Weird.. 20 
478 Diavola; or, No- 
body’s Daughter. 

Part 1 20 

478 Diavola; or. No- 
body’s Dniigliter. 

Part II 20 

480 married in Haste. 
Edited by Miss m. 

E. Kraddon 20 

487 Put* to the Test. 

Edited hy miss m. 

E. Draddoii 20 

488 Joshua Haggard’s 

Daughter 20 

489 Kupert Godwin. ... 20 

495 mount Koyal 20 

490 Duly a Woman. 

Edited hr miss m. 

E. Ilraddon 20 


497 The Lady’s mile... 20 

498 Duly a t'lod ‘20 

499 The t'loyen Foot... 20 

51 1 A Strange World . . 20 
515 Sir Jasper’s 'reliant 20 
624 Strangers and I’il- 

grinis 20 

529 The Doctor’s Wife. ‘>0 

512 Fenton’s truest 20 

544 Gut by t he County; 

orjTi'face Dariud. 10 

548 'I’lie Fatal ^marriage, 

and 'I'lie Shadow 
In- the Corner. ... 10 

549 Dudley Garleoii, and 

tb'orge Caiillield’s 
JoiiriH'y 10 

552 Host asres (oFort line 20 

553 Birds of Prey; ..... 20 

554 Chariot le's liiber- 

itance. (Seipiel t<i 
“Birds of Prey.”) 20 
557 'fo the Bitter End. 20 

559 'fakeii at the Flood 20 

560 Asphodel 20 

561 Just as I am; or, A 

Liyinsr hie 20 

567 Dead men’s Shoes.. 20 
570 John .11 arch wont’s 

Lesracv 20 

618 The m i s I 1 «* t o e 
Bonzrb. Cbrist- 
iiias, 1885 20 


Brawn ainl Muscle. 
The Pleiades end Orioli 
The Queen’s Visit. 

Vica l ions Sufferinpr. 
Posthnnioiis Opportu- 
• nitv; 

The Lord’s Razor. 
Windows Toivard Je- 
rusalem. 

Stormed and Taken. 
All the World Akin. 

A Momentous Quest. 
The Great Assize. 

Tlie Road to the City. 
Tlie Ransomless. 

The Tiiree Groups. 


'I'he Insignificant. 
The Three Itings. 
How He Came to S 
It. 

Castle Jesus. 
Stripping the Slain.,, 
Sold Out. 0 

Summer Temiitatio^ 
The Rani.sJied QueeilH 
The T)<iy We Live In 
Capital and Labor. 
Toliacco and Opium 1 
Lies ]M)t ism of ti 
Needle. ] 

Why are Satan and’ii 
Permitted? | 


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(SECOND HAIiF.) 


17 TO 27 VANDEW>MEf\ 3 

E wYof^K:- 




Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, Issued Tn^veekly. By 

pd 1 HK6 by George Munro — ^Entered at the Post Office at New York at second class rates Feb. 









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THE PRETTY JAILER 


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523 The Consequences of a Duel . . . ^ . 20 

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697 The Pretty Jailer. Second half 20 

699 The Sculptor's Daughter. First half . . . .20 

699 The Sculptor's Daughter. Second half ... 20 



THE PRETTY JAILER. 


CHAPTEE L 

OoRALiE Berkache had returned to Paris after a jour- 
ney that proved much more eventful at its beginning than 
at its ending. 

She slept fully ten hours at the farm-house^ and when 
she awoke, Chancelade^s friend drove her to Angouleme, 
where she took a diligence that transported her to the near- 
est railway, station. 

The rest of the journey was accomplished without any 
incident worthy of mention, and she had plenty of time to 
reflect upon the strange experience she had just had in 
Perigord— an experience she would hav^ deeply regretted, 
had it not been for the recollection of her romantic advent- 
ure with Louis Chancelade. 

For the first time in her life, she had met a man utterly 
unlike any she had ever known, and she had known a 
great many. All her admirers, from Prince Lounine, her 
latest conquest, to Charles Vignory, a former suitor, had 
all been formed upon the same model, and led about the 
same sort of a life. 

But what a striking difference there was between these 
idle spendthrifts, and this young man full of ardor and 
vigor, who risked his life with more coolness and indiffer- 
ence than they displayed in makihg a trifling bet at the 
card-table! He was as young in h,eart as in years, while 
his virile beauty lent an irresistible charm to his unassum- 
ing but decidedly brusque manner. Here was a man, at 
last, and these handsome Parisian exquisites seemed only 
so many Punchinellos in comparison with this Fra Hiavolo 
— an honest Fra Diavolo, who violated the laws only to 
redress wrongs, like Don Quixote. 

Coralie made this comparison unceasingly; Louis was 


s 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


ever in her mind, and she longed to see him again with an 
intensity she was ashamed to acknowledge even to herself. 

It troubled her not a little that she received no news of 
the fugitive. Those who could have furnished it were now 
estranged from her. Vignory must he anathematizing her 
most heartily in his secret heart, if not openly. Aurelie 
hated her for having compromised her husband, and they 
had parted in anger. Martial Mouleydier might have writ- 
ten to her, in spite of the trick she had played upon him; 
but he did not know her address. To whom, then, could 
she apply to learn what had become of Ohancelade? Poor 
Coralie was reduced to seeking information in the political 
journals which usually interested her so little, and in 
which she now failed to find any items relating to the Sal- 
Tiac insurgents. 

One week after her departure from Salviac, she received 
her baggage, which had been returned to her without so 
much as a single line from Vignory, sufficient proof that 
no one down there was bestowing much thought on her, 
not even the ungrateful Vignory. 

Clara Lasource, Adhemar de Mussidan^s old sweetheart, 
often called to see her, and endeavored to divert her mind; 
but Coralie refused* to accompany her to the theater, and 
even upon the round of shopping to which Clara usually 
devoted an hour or two every day. 

This Clara was a very handsome young woman who had 
many titled acquaintances, and whose position was much 
better assured than that of our whimsical Coralie, so she 
gave her plenty of good advice, and laughed heartily at 
her friend ^s infatuation. 

Not in the least romantic herself. Mile. Lasource utterly 
failed to understand how any one could possibly fall in 
love with a peasant, especially a landless peasant. 

So the days went by, and Coralie, like Sister Anne, 
waited in vain for some one to come. 

The carnival season was drawing to a close; and in spite 
of the political changes, it had been an unusually brilliant 
and enjoyable one for everybody except Coralie, who still 
persisted in immuring herself at home. 

But one Saturday, the third after her return to Paris, 
as she was lying dreaming on the sofa, her friend Clara 
burst into the room, brandishing a newspaper. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


9 


Get up, you lazy girl!^^ she cried. ‘‘ If you don% I 
won^t tell you the news I have just read. 

^^Has there been another revolution yawned Coralie. 

1 can^t say that I care if there has. 

Nor do retorted Clara. 

Then stop bothering me with your news. 

But, stupid, it is not a matter of politics. I never 
read anything on that subject. 

What is it, then?^^ 

Two items that interest both you and me very particu- 
larly. In the first place, Vignory has been deposed. 

I sha^nT cry my eyes out about that. He deserves it. 
He will return to Paris now, and if he takes it into his 
head to come and see me, 1^11 treat him as he treated me. 

Then you would make a great mistake. He has just 
inherited six hundred thousand francs from an uncle. 

Impossible 

He used to be forever talking of this uncle, a rich lace- 
merchant. DonT you remember?^ ^ 

Yes; hut I didnT believe a word of it. 

There was so much truth ui it, though, that he sent in 
his resignation before he received his dismissal. They 
would not accept it, however, being resolved to make an 
example of him, I suppose. 

Did you see all this in the paper 

About his dismissal, yes, hut it was his friend Marcas 
who told me all the rest last night, at the theater. You 
know Jules Marcas — the little broker. 

‘‘ Then it must be true, for he is a particular friend of 
Vignory ^s. They were inseparable. But I donT care 
whether Charlie has inherited a fortune or not. It will, 
never make any difference to me. He must hate me as 
bitterly as I hate him. 

“ Nonsense, you will soon forget your quarrel. But 
there is another bit of news that concerns me personally. 
Listen to this: 

‘ The Prince-President neglects no opportunity to ex- 
ercise clemency when such a course is not injurious to the 
interests of the country. Shortly after the political^dis- 
turbances that occurred in Salviac, early in December, the 
Baron Adhemar de Mussidan was arrested for participating 
in them. The government, having now freed the country 


10 


THE PEETTT JAILER. 


from the Avorst enemies of social order, can afford to par- 
don some of the misguided persons -whose positions and 
antecedents offer sufficient guarantees for the future. Mon- 
sieur de Mussidan has suffered an imprisonment of ten 
■weeks’ duration. This punishment appears sufficient, and 
he has just been set at liberty. ’ ” 

“ This is Aurelia’s doings!” exclaimed Coralie. “ She 
must haA’-e begged the general to obtain the baron’s pardon, 
and the general has complied Avith her request. ” 

“ Atirelia de Saint Amour, -who -was educated at Saint 
Denis! Do you mean to say that she is in loA^e -with Ad- 
hemar de Mussidan?” 

She admitted as much to me herself, and I had pretty 
®*^^ciHsive proofs of it the night Douis made his escape. ” 

“ Yes; you told me all about that eventful night, but I 
am not at all jealous of the jailer’s Avife. Adhemar only 
started a flirtation with her because he had nothing better 
to do while he was in prison, but now he is out, he won’t 
trouble himself any more about Madame Marteau. I cer- 
tainly hope that he Avill come to Paris soon, and that his 
first visit will be paid to me. ” 

“ It is more likely to be paid to Aurelia, for she must be 
m Paris by this time. As Monsieur Vignory has lost his 
office, it is almost certain that the head-jailer has lost his, 
too, so he and his wife have doubtless taken refuge under 
General Plancoet’s wing. ” 

“ That makes no difference to me, not the slightest. I 
am not afraid of my rival. Adhemar will return to his 
allegiance, never fear, and one of these days you shall have 
the pleasure of dining with liim as in former times. ” 

“ It would give me great pleasure. He might be able to 
tell me what had become of Louis. ” 

“ Are you still as infatuated as ever about that peimiless 
school-master?” 

“ More infatuated than ever, and he is not as poor as 
you suppose. His father has property. ” 

“Eight or ten acres of land, I suppose,” said Clara, 
scornfully. 

“ Much more than that, my dear. He owns several 
farms, and a house .in Salviac. Besides, it is not his money 
I want, it is himself. I would marry Louis Chancelade 


THE PKETTY* JAILER. 


11 


to-morrow, if he would have me; but, unfortunately, he 
doesn^t want me. 

I think it is very fortunate, for you would make a 
terrible mistake if you married a poor school-master. Still, 
I don^t know why I should take the trouble to preach to 
you, for you will never see your Adonis again. But I have 
not finished the article. The paper goes on to say ; 

‘ This clemency is not wholly undeserved in his case, 
but in order that honest and law-abiding citizens may feel 
reassured, we will add that, though Commissioner-General 
Santelli's assassin has succeeded in making his escape, he 
will not fail to receive a punishment befitting his crime. 
Active search is being made for him, and there is good 
reason to believe that he has taken refuge in Paris. He 
will certainly be arrested before many days have elapsed, 
and, in the meantime, the officials of Salviac who favored 
or permitted his fiight have been recalled. 

The reporter is mistaken. Louis is not in Paris. If 
he were, he would have come to ask a shelter of me. He 
promised me this before leaving me, and I promised that I 
would conceal him in my house. 

‘‘ He was an idiot to promise such a thing. Your trip 
to Salviac must be known here, and 1 shouldn't be afraid 
to bet a dozen pairs of gloves that you have been pointed 
out to the police, and that your house is closely watched. 
Your admirer must suspect as much, and it is not likely 
that he will come to throw himself into the trap. He will 
try to escape to some foreign land. He has already done 
so, perhaps, and I suppose you have no intention of joining 
him. 

Coralie made no reply. The counsel of her eminently 
sensible friend irritated her. 

But we have bestowed attention enough upon these 
persons, continued Clara. Let us choose a more cheer- 
ful subject. You are dying of ennui , and I have come to 
rescue you from it. This is the evening of the great mas- 
querade ball, and I have a box. I have invited Marcas 
and all his set. Baron Ormuz, too, will be there, of course. 
We shall have a dehghtful evening. I say lee^ for you are 
going with me. 

‘‘ Don^t depend upon me. I have no heart for gayety. 


12 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


“You are really too absurd! I don't believe a word of 
it; and it is perfectly ridiculous for you to pose for a mar- 
tyr to love before me. " 

“ l am not feigning, I assure you. There are times 
when 1 really feel like crying my eyes out. " 

“Ah, well! you can weep at the ball— in the arms of 
Marcas, who will console you by giving you the latest news 
of Charles Vignory. " 

“ If he could give me any news of Louis Chancelade, I 
would not refuse your invitation — ^for that is all I care 
about now. " 

“ Who know^s but he can? He is always poking his nose 
into everything, this little ferret of a Marcas — and his friend, 
Charlie, must have kept him posted in regard to all that 
went on down there. But even if he can't tell you any- 
thing, you will be sure to have a good time. A little 
harmless gayety will drive away the silly fancies that have 
taken possession of your brain, and to-morrow, after sleej)- 
ing upon it, you won't be the same woman. I shall see 
my old Cora of former days again, and I shall never have 
to read you another lecture on this subject. " 

“ That decides me," said Coralie, smiling. 

“ Good! Be ready at midnight, and I will call for you 
in my new coupe, I would ask you to dine with me, but 
Ormuz has invited himself to dinner with three or four 
friends, and you would be bored to death. It is settled, is 
it not?" 

“ Yes, as you insist. Ah! you may well boast of your 
influence over me. I hadn't the slightest idea of going to 
this ball. " 

“ So much the better. Impromptu affairs are always 
much more enjoyable. I promise you that you shall not 
repent of your decision. But I must leave you now. I 
have a host of errands to do before I return home. You 
bear me no malice, I trust. Above all, don't relapse into 
another flt of dreaming before the hour of the ball. Shake 
off your sadness. Men are not worth worrying about. " 

^ I begin to think you are right," replied Mile. Ber- 
nache. 

And after her friend's departure, she seated herself at 
the piano and blundered through an accompaniment, while 
she hummed a love song in which the male sex was held 
up to the utmost contumely and derision. 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


13 


She was thus engaged when a loud rap resounded 
through the house. 

''What if it should be the prince, just returned from 
Eussia?^^ thought Ooralie, ceasing her vocal efforts. 
^'Upon my word! I should not be sorry if it was. His 
arrival might produce a change in my feelings. 

Just then her maid opened the door and said: 

" There is a man here who wishes to see mademoiselle. 

" A man? Do you mean a tradesman ?^^ 

" I think not — ^but he is not a gentleman. He is very 
queerly dressed. 

" What does he want?^^ 

" He says he has called at the request of some one made- 
moiselle met in Puyrabot — Puyragot — I donT exactly 
remember the name of the place. 

" Puyrazeau!^^ exclaimed Coralie. 

" Yes, madame; that is it. 

" Show him iiv quick, and admit no one else!^^ 

The maid disappeared, and her mistress, convinced that 
the visitor was Chancelade, was overcome with astonish- 
ment and joy. 

Her emotion, however, did not prevent her from run- 
ning to the mirror to arrange her hair, which had become 
slightly disheveled. 

The door opened before she had finished, and she found 
herself face to face with a man she had never before seen: 
a tall, dark-complexioned young man, whose stature and 
bearing reminded her slightly of Louis Chancelade, though 
he did not resemble him at all in feature. 

He had a soft felt hat in his hand, and wore a sort of 
ulster that reached nearly to. his heels. Had it not been 
for.his frank and pleasant face, one might have taken him 
for a rather dangerous character, for he carried a strong 
cane that might easily have served as a cudgel. 

Indeed, Coralie was beginning to wonder if the stranger 
were not an emissary of the police, when the visitor said, 
quietly: 

" I called at the request of my friend Chancelade. 

" Yes, sir?^^ murmured Coralie. 

" Exactly, mademoiselle. You doubt it, I see, and that 
is only natural, as you do not know me. But you will 
cease to doubt after I have related the particulars of your 
meeting with Louis, near the Polling Eock; your evening 


14 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


walk through the fields and forest;, and your arrival at the 
farm-house^ where Louis left you sound asleep^ to continue: 
his journey. 

Oh! I believe you now. 

I must tell you who I am, however. I know that Louis 
has spoken to you of me. He left you at Nassou^s house, in 
order that he might join me, having heard, through you,, 
that I was wounded. 

What! was it you who tried to get him out of prison?^^ 

I was preparing to do so. I had climbed upon the pris- 
on roof to reconnoiter, but I did not intend to make any 
attempt to rescue him that night. 

And a miserable keeper fired at you! I heard the shot. 

I know it. You did your work much better than I 
did, for you succeeded in getting Louis safely out of pris- 
on. 

‘‘ And your wound?^^ 

Was a mere scratch — in the fleshy pa«t of the shoulder. 
There is scarcely a trace of it left now. Louis healed it better 
than any surgeon could have done. 

I am much pleased to see you entirely cured; but— • 
he?^^ 

He is perfectly well. 

And he is in Paris?^^ 

We reached the city together, though not without con- 
siderable difficulty, as you may suppose. We had a pretty 
hard time of it, too, in the forest of Valade. The gen- 
darmes came close to our hiding-place several times. We 
could even hear them talking. After that, we had to reach 
Puyrazeau, without being captured, and that was no easy 
matter, for the gendarmes were scouring the country night 
and day. We succeeded at last; our worthy friend Nassou 
procured clothing for us, and carried us to Angouleme. 
There we took the diligence — 

“ Which took you to the railroad. I returned by the 
same route. How long have you been in Paris? 

^‘Aweek.^^ 

And you did not come to see me imtil to-day! Louis 
promised me that I should see him as soon as he arrived. 

I could have concealed him here. 

But not as effectually as we are concealed now, made- 
moiselle. We are staying with one of my compatriots ■** 
at Montmartre, where the police will not think of looking 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


15 


for us. While at your house, here, in a fashionable part of 
the city, we should be sure to attract attention. We are 
not dressed like gentlemen; besides, we should have incon- 
venienced you,^^ added Jacques, glancing around him. 

'' Xot at all. My apartment is very large, and I am 
entirely alone. 

Chancelade did not know that. 

True, I did not have time to tell him how perfectly 
free I am; but I will explain my situation when I see him, 
for I certainly hope to see him. Why didnT he come him- 
self?^^ 

Because he did not dare. He has not forgotten that 
he owes his escape to you, however; and he is anxious to 
thank you; hut he was ignorant in regard to many matters. 
He knew your name, and address, and your relationship to 
the wife of the jailer in Salviac, hut that was all; and be- 
ing fearful of getting you into trouble, he sent me here to 
reconnoiter, as it were. 

^^Ah! I understand. He distrusts me on account of 
Madame Marteau. Tell him she is no relation of mine, nor 
is she even a friend, now. We have quarreled, and I shall 
never speak to her again; but I must see him, and if he 
does not come to see me, I shall certainly call upon him. "" 

That would he very imprudent. You had better ar- 
range to meet somewhere. We very rarely leave Mont- 
martre, but Louis goes out every day to smoke his pipe on 
the top of the hill behind Galette's mill. "" 

I care not where it is. But he can not remain per- 
manently in Paris. What does he intend to do?^^ 

To go with me to America. We should have gone be- 
fore now, but for the lack of two things: money and pass- 
ports. 

I have money, and all I possess is at his disposal. 

You are really too kind, mademoiselle; but we have 
enough to live upon until we receive some money that is 
to- be sent to us from Salviac. But the bearer of that can 
not bring us the passpoHs of which we stand in need, and 
that is why I fear our departure will be delayed. 

“ So much the better. I shall have an opportunity to 
save him again. I have influential friends, and I will in- 
terest them in his behalf. It can easily be proved that he 
^did not kill the commissioner, and then the authorities will 
cease to pursue him. 


IG 


THE PIIETTY JAILER. 


I doubt it/’ said Jacques^, shaking his head. 

But I must first see him again/^ continued Coralie. 

You can see him to-morrow^ if you like. Appoint the 
hour. 

ISTo; to-night. I have a'plan: I am going to a mas- 
querade ball at the Opera House. Have him meet me 
there. 

At the Opera House?^^ repeated Jacques^ like a man 
who did not fully understand. 

Yes; on the Kue Peletier. Any one can tell him 
where it is. 

But what do people do there? dance 
‘‘ One is not obliged to dance. One can walk about or 
sit with one^s friends in the boxes, and watch the others 
dance. 

And you ask Louis to go to such a place? You forget 
that the police have a description of him. 

He can go disguised. 

Chancelade will never consent to dress himself up like 
a clown or a harlequin. 

I understand that; but he need only hire a domino. 

^^A domino?^^ 

That is to say, a sort of black silk robe that will cover 
him from head to foot, and a mask of the same material 
that will conceal his face. I would not go in any other 
way* myself. 

Very good. But if you are both disguised in that way, 
how will you know each other ?^^ 

We must agree upon some mode of recognition. I 
wdll pin a bunch of heather on my domino. Let him do 
the same, and promenade the corridor leading to the first 
tier of boxes between the hours of one and two. I will be 
there. 

That is a very clever idea, though I am by no means 
sure that Louis will consent. 

Tell him I implore him to do me this favor. Besides, 
it is not merely for pleasure that I wish to see him. I 
have many things to tell him — ;things that concern him 
personally, as well as his friends, and the enemies he left 
in Salviac. There have been many changes since he left 
the town, and it is absolutely necessary for me to see him, 
in order that he maybe in a position to profit by the favor- 
able opportimities that now present themselves. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


17 


And^ receiving no reply, Coralie added, quickly: 

I may, perhaps, be able to procure him a passport. 

We need two; but I can surely find a way to rejoin 
him in America, even if I have to ship as a servant or cook 
upon the vessel in which he takes passage. 

Then I can count upon his coming to-night 

I can not vouch for it, but I will endeavor to persuade 

him. 

If you will do this for me, I shall be eternally grateful 
to YOU, as I will find a way to prove. 

Oh! I, mademoiselle, need nothing. I can get out of 
the scrape without assistance. The main thing is to save 
Chancelade by assisting him to get out of France ; and if 
you succeed in this, I shall be under immense obligations 
to you. Now we understand each other, and I must go. 

‘‘ Not until you have told me where you and your friend 
are staying. You spoke of Montmartre; but — 

You would like our exact address, but what does that 
matter? If Louis refuses to attend this ball to-night, you 
will find him at noon to-morrow at the place I men tioned. 

So be it! I shall go there if I fail to see him to- 
night. But one word more. Has your friend heard from 
his sister since his arrival in Paris? 

How do you know that he has a sister?^^ asked Jacques, 
frowning darkly. 

I know, because he told me about her,^^ rephed 
Corahe, slightly disconcerted. ‘‘ Have I offended you un- 
wittingly?*’^ 

I see no reason why Mademoiselle Chancelade should 
be mixed up in the matter, replied Jacques, brusquely. 

Pardon me, sir. I thought that — 

She is very well where she is, and you had better leave 
her there. Atou, mademoiselle. 

And the ex-gamekeeper promptly took his departure. 

Coralie dared not attempt to detain him, but she escorted 
him to the door, reminding him of his promise to persuade 
Louis Chancelade to attend the ball. 

Jacques left her almost inconsolable at having injured 
her prospects by her unfortunate inquiry about Mile. Chan- 
celade. 

Once before, in the cave near the Polling Pock, Louis 
had seemed almost angry when she ventured to speak of 
Edmee, and she now promised herself never to broach the 


18 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


subject again. What did she care about the sister, pro- 
vided the brother kept the appointment she had just made 
with him through Jacques? 

Besides, she had no time to lose if she would complete 
her little preparations before evening, so she summoned 
her maid and gave her instructions in regard to her domino, 
gloves, and laces, as well as to the bouquet of heather she 
was to purchase. 

Heather does not flourish upon the plain of Saint Denis, 
but Parisian florists can produce much flner specimens 
than were ever culled upon the plains of Perigord; but 
they ask a high price for it, and Ooralie almost reproached 
herself for having chosen a token of recognition which 
would entail such expense upon Louis. 

She shrewdly suspected that he had no money to spare, 
in spite of what his friend Jacques had said, and she felt a 
little sorry that he should be put to the expense of pur- 
chasing the costly flowers and hiring a domino, but this 
trifle could not mar the pleasure she anticipated from her 
approaching interview with the young man who had won 
her heart so completely. 

The prudent advice of Clara Lasource was forgotten, or 
remembered only to be sneered at, and Ooralie thought it 
a capital joke that this adviser, by offering her a seat in 
her opera-box, had furnished her with the much-desired 
opportunity for an interview with Chancelade. But she 
resolved to take good care not to enlighten her friend, and 
to part company with her as soon as Louis presented him- 
self. 

Punctually at midnight she was ready, and three quar- 
ters of an hour later she entered the couioe of her friend 
Clara, who had no intention of entering the ball-room with 
the crowd. 

Who does not remember that pleasant old hall on the 
Kue Le Peletier, destroyed by Are on the 29th of October, 
1873, and who has not thought of it with regret since its 
destruction? 

It would cut a sorry flgure beside the magnificent struct- 
ure which has replaced it, but it recalled so many delight- 
ful memories to three generations of viveurs and dilettanti 
that they can not think of . it now without sadness, though 
more than ten years have elapsed since its destruction. 

There, operas were presented as we never see them pre- 


THE PBETTY JAILER. 


19 


itecl now; there^ shone the brightest stars of the realms 
music and the dance; there, rang out such applause as 
e young men of the present day never heard. 

As the two friends entered the corridor leading to 
ara"s box, they encountered a crowd of gentlemen in 
.ominoes, grotesque masks, and in evening-dress, that had 
fathered around a boisterous and deeply intoxicated indi- 
ftdual who was standing with his face to the persons that 
Jere enjoying themselves at his expense, and with his back 
m Coralie and her companion. These young ladies were 
tiot disconcerted by such a trifle, however; they even in- 
4ulged in a smile themselves, but they did not stop to 
listen; on the contrary, they Avere doing their best to force 
their way through the crowd, when a retort attracted 
Coralie ^s attention. 

You, a sub-prefect!'’^ exclaimed a voice. You look 
more like an undertaker's assistant. 


, ^ Coralie turned and recognized in the person who was 
' affording so much amusement to this motley throng 
I Charles Vignory, Avith his hat on the back of his head, his 
cravat untied, and his mustache out of curl. 

Clara also recognized him, and, laying her hand on her 
friend ^s arm, Avhispered: 

I “ You see that he is himself again. 

And that he has really coiiie into a fortune,^'’ rejoined 
Coralie. He has lost no time in beginning upon his in- 
heritance. But let us hurry on. I am terribly afraid 
that he will speak to us.^^ 
r Just then he did perceive them, and called out: 

‘^Oh, ho! who is this? Out with the dominoes! This 
is the jolly boys^ corridor. Fine ladies have no business 
jhere!^^ 

' He even tried to pull Coralie by the sleeve, but he re- 
ceived a sharp, blow on his Angers from her fan. 

And to think I made an appointment with Louis 
Chancelade to meet me here,^^ Coralie thought, as she 
hastened on. If Vignory should meet and recognize 
him, he is quite capable of having him arrested. But no; 
Charlie isnT really bad at heart, and as he is no longer a 
sub-prefect, he will not trouble himself any more about 
political offenders. 

Clara Lasource cared even less about them, and she hur- 
ried her friend on without giving her time to turn. 


20 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


Vignory evinced no intention of following them. He 
had come to the ball to enjoy himself with some friends he 
hoped to find there, and in order to enjoy himself still 
better, he had dined at the Cafe de Paris, where he had 
drunk so much that he could hardly stand. 

Clara ^s admirer, Baron d^Ormuz, was already in the 
box, so busily engaged in surveying the crowded house 
’ through his opera-glass, that he. scarcely condescended to 
turn and bow when Coralie was introduced to him. 

This baron was a Jew, who had recently taken up liis 
abode in Paris, with several millions, more or less, stolen 
from the Turkish Government, and who was doing his best 
to secure a foothold in the fashionable world. 

You are not very pohte this evening, said Clara. I 
introduce you to one of my friends, a charming young 
lady, and you scarcely take the trouble to bow to her. 

‘‘*Your friend will excuse me, I trust, replied the great 
financier. I shall be entirely at her service as soon as I 
have completed my survey. The boxes are well filled, but 
there are many new faces, and nothing annoys me so much 
as not to be able to give a name to each face. 

Point out those who interest you, and it will be very 
strange if Coralie and I can not give you the desired infor- 
mation. . 

‘‘We shall soon see. Is that gentleman with the gray 
mustache, over there in the box opposite us, the General 
de Plancoet who commands a brigade of cavalry in your 
army?^^ 

The same,^^ replied Coralie. 

Do you know him?^^ inquired the baron, eagerly. 

Yes; and he is a great admirer of a particular friend 
of miu^. 

Indeed! then you can enter his box and chat with him 
a little, if you choose 

I shall perhaps give myself that pleasure later in the 
evening. 

He is a very infiuential person. Ask him if he will 
help me to secure a railway grant. He shall have his share 
of the profits. 

“ I think he will tell me to mind my business; but if it 
will be any satisfaction to you, I will ask him, all the same. 

Thanks; you are very kind. By the way, I am sure 
that I have often heard my friend. Prince Lounine, speak 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


21 


^ you. The prince is a very agreeable gentleman, and 
fluite an intimate friend of mine. He owes me quite a 
large sum of money, and I am perfectly willing to lend 
' still more. He wrote me yesterday that he expected 
lo* return to Paris next week. But as you seem to know 
•Everybody, who is that with the general 
I A tall, spare old man I never saw before, said Clara, 
tiot disposed to be left out of the conversation. 

! Lend me your glass, said Coralie. 

I M. d^Ormuz passed her hh lorgnette, which she immedi- 
iltely leveled at the generaPs box, and almost instantly she 
Exclaimed : 

I know him, too. I met him in Perigord. He is a 
' former member of the King^s Guard, the Count de Si- 
goules. 

Adhemar^s uncle, murmured Clara Lasource. 

And a former comrade of the generaPs, added Coralie. 

Then he, too, must be a very influential man,^^ con- 
cluded the baron. 

ISTo; for he is at swords ^-points with the government. 

Indeed! Then there is nothing to be gained from 
him. But who is the young man that just entered the 
box?^^ 

‘^It is my turn now,^^ chirped Clara. That is Mon- 
sieur de Mussidan. 

And who is Monsieur de Mussidan 

A cousin of the Count de Sigoules,^^ replied Clara. 

Both unknown here, I judge, said the baron, dis- 
dainfully. “ Provincial nobility, I suppose. 

But of lofty lineage, and gentlemen in the highest sense 
of the word, or the Marquis de Plancoet would not receive 
them. 

But the nephew does not seem to be one of his friends. 
See, they are introducing him to the general, and his re- 
ception is a very cool one. A curt bow and a silent invita- 
tion to take a seat — ^that is all. 

‘‘ The new-comer has a decidedly distingue air, how- 
ever. 

‘^And is very handsome into the bargain, don ^t you 
think so?^^ added Clara, with a sly glance at her friend. 

“ Not bad-looking, though rather unfashionably dressed. 
He wears his hat tipped over one ear, like a non-commis- 
sioned officer of hussars. 


22 


THE PKETTY JAILEK. 


Does he belong to the 

No; but he might as well. He wouldn^t hesitate to 
cut off the ears of any man who ventured a too ardent 
glance at his sweetheart. 

How do you happen to know so much about him?^^ 

Oh, I saw a good deal of him when he was in Paris, a 
year or two ago. Congratulate me upon having so many 
distinguished acquaintances.^^ 

I do; but as I must be at my office by eight o^clock to- 
morrow morning, you ladies will not take it amiss, I hope, 
if I bid you good-evening. Business before pleasure, you 
know. 

Certainly, certainly, replied Coralie, cordially. 

What an arrogant fool that man is!'’^ exclaimed Clara, 
almost before her admirer was out of hearing. He is 
not a man, but a mere money-making machine. Ah, if I 
only had an income of twelve thousand francs, how quick- 
ly I would shut my doors in his face!^^ 

He certainly has some good qualities. For instance, 
he is not jealous. 

Certainly not of Adhemar. But, to tell the truth, I 
have not quite decided to renew my acquaintance with 
him. The newspaper told the truth in sa)dng that he had 
been released; but that will not restore the fortune he has 
squandered. 

Nonsense! he will inherit the fortune of his uncle, the 
count. 

The count is his cousin, not his uncle, and he looks to 
me as if he would live a hundred years. Besides, it is by 
no means certain that Adhemar is not cured of his infatu- 
ation for me. Since he has engaged in politics, he may 
have thrown all thoughts of love to the winds. I shall 
know soon, however, for I intend, to walk by his box, and 
he will have to come and speak to me. 

‘‘ But look*! Marcas and his crowd have just entered the 
hall. He is disguised as an Indian, one of his companions 
as an orang-outang, another as a nurse. He did not warn 
me of this fact. The idea of his supposing I would receive 
them here in such costumes !^^ 

Do they know the number of your box?^^ 

Yes; I was stupid enough to tell him.-"^ 

Then let us run away before they see us. They are 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


23 


jguite capable of bringing Yignoiy here, and I wouldn^t 
j I meet him this evening for an3dhing on earth. 

Clara thought well of the suggestion, and the two friends 
j hastened from the box. 

I Clara was much more anxious to meet Mussidan than 
: she was willing to admit, and Coralie knew that the hour 
I appointed for her interview with Louis Chancelade was fast 
■ approaching. 

‘‘Where shall we meet?'’^ she inquired when they 
I reached the door leading into the foyer, 

“In our box, and at three o^clock, we will finish the 
I evening with a supper at the Grand Quinze. 

I “Ido not promise to be present at the supper, re- 
I sponded Coralie, as she waved her friend a gay good-bye, 

I and mingled with the crowd, while Clara started in the 
direction of the generaLs box. 

Coralie, however, had but one aim, and that was not to 
miss her lover, and after walking about a little in the cor- 
ridor she returned to take her stand by the outer door of 
i the foyer. 

This is the best possible place to watch the crowd of 
comers and goers, but it is much too conspicuous for a 
lady in domino, as Coralie soon discovered, for the gentle- 
men who passed her often paused to pay her compliments, 
or to invite her to dance, and she sometimes had consider- 
able difficulty in getting rid of them. 

Vignory had disappeared, very fortunately. It was 
more than probable that he had entered the hall, where he 
would hardly fail to meet his friend Marcas, but he might 
return at any moment, and Coralie was more anxious than 
ever to avoid him. 

Intoxicated as he was, there was but little danger that 
he would recognize her behind her mask, but her fresh and 
elegantly made domino distinguished her from the wearers 
of the shabby hired disguises, and would be almost sure to 
attract the attention of a person like the ex-prefect. 

She was about to resume her promenade, therefore, 
when a beardless youth, decidedly the worse for liquor, 
seized her rudely about the waist, thereby extoi’ting a cry 
of indignation, followed by some sharp words. 

“Wretch!^^ she cried. “Is there no honorable gentle- 
man here to teach this scoundrel a lesson 

Two or three by-standers promptly sprung to the rescue. 


24 . 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


and the young simpleton was roughly hustled out upon the 
staircase. 

Coralie watched these summaiy proceedings with no 
little satisfaction^ and was about to move away, when her 
eyes fell upon a man in domino who was standing near her, 
and who seemed to be examining her with singular persist- 
ency. 

It certainly was not Chancelade, for he not only wore no 
sprig of heather upon his domino, hut his massive contour 
and square shoulders bore no resemblance to the tall and i 
slender form of Edmee^s brother. 

As to his face, one could not catch a glimpse of that, for 
he was closely masked, even below the chin. 

Coralie experienced a sensation of fear, though she 
would have been at a loss to explain why, and resolving to j 
make her escape without delay, she hastened in the direc- ! 
tion of the generaFs box, with the intention of soon re- j 
tracing her steps and continuing her promenade until she | 
should meet Chancelade. i 

She did not know the exact number of this box, but i 
when she reached it, as she supposed, she could not resist | 
the temptation to peep in through the romid opening in | 
the upper part of the door. 

She was not mistaken. Adhemar de Mussidan, the 
general, and M. de Sigoules were still there, and with them 
a lady in a black domino, in whose conversation they all 
seemed to he deeply interested. 

Coralie would have been glad to hear what this lady was 
saying, hut they were conversing in very subdued tones; 
besides, she could not remain with her face glued to the 
opening, so she turned, and was not a little frightened to 
perceive that the masked man was close behind her. 

Why had he followed her? and with whom had she to 
deal? With a spy, apparently. This thought ' troubled 
her so much that she fled as fast as she could, and though 
she made sudden turns, like a hunted hare, mingling with 
merry groups, and occasionally pausing in some dark cor- 
ner, she did not succeed in eluding her pursuer. 

Under other circumstances, she would not have taken 
these precutions. On such occasions the Opera House is 
full of men who amuse themselves by following a woman 
without daring to address her; besides, so far as she her- , 
self was concerned, she had nothing to fear from the police; 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


25 


tut Louis was coming, and Louis was a proscribed man; 
Hd if the man who was following her was a detective, he 
^ould not fail to notice the means of identification, or, in 
her words, the sprig of heather pinned upon her domino. 
^ this, he would see a conspiracy against the safety of the 
^te — such people see that in everything — and he would 
Attach himself to the suspicious parties. 

, Suddenly she recollected that the spy had not begun to 
I follow her until after he had heard her call for protection 
i^inst the rude youth who had insulted her, and from 
this fact she concluded that he must have recognized her 
voice. 

Consequently he must have met her before, and fre- 
quently, for one does not recollect the voice of a person 
one has met only once or twice. 

And as he knew her so well, he must also know Chance- 
lade, for she had never had any dealings with the Parisian 
police, so this detective must have come from Salviac, and 
had probably been sent here in search of the fugitive by the 
procureur or the new sub-prefect; and as her sudden dis- 
appearance must have created quite a senstion in the quiet 
town, he had perhaps been told to keep an eye on her as 
well. 


In her intense anxiety to escape her scrutiny, Coralie re- 
solved not to utter another word for fear of betraying her- 
self a second time; but she was determined not to leave the 
ball, since by so doing she would miss her opportunity of 
seeing Louis. 

She finally decided to return to the foyer, hoping to be- 
come lost in the crowd, and she was about to enter it when 
she saw the Count de Sigoules and his cousin coming to- 
ward her arm in arm. 

In fact, they passed so near her that she distinctly heard 
the count say to his companion: . , 

The jailer^s pretty wife has really too much assurance. 

This fragment of conversation was so * significant that 
Coralie instantly resolved to hear what was to follow, and 
quite forgetting that the spy was close upon her own heels, 
she proceeded to follow these gentlemen, and they, having 
entirely failed to notice her, did not hesitate to speak very 
freely; so she heard M. de Mussidan reply: 

“ For what do you censure our pretty friend? For com- 


26 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


ing to the ball without her husband.^ She certainly could 
not bring the brute with her!'’^ 

Oh, no! I don^t blame her for that, hut I distinctly 
saw her slip into your hand a billet-doux which you hastily 
concealed in your pocket. I ought to add, however, that 
hM I been in your place I should have done exactly as you 

Then I fail to see why you blame either of us. 

Nor do I; but after his intervention in your behalf, I 
think the general, who is evidently the lady's abject slave, 
is entitled to some consideration. Still, you would render 
Plancoet a real service by opening his eyes to the lady's real 
character before he compromises himself irretrievably. 
Between ourselves, it seems to me that he has degenerated 
greatly since my last visit to Paris. It was bad enough for 
an old royalist like him to go over to the Bonapartists, but 
for him to dance attendance upon the wife of a common 
jailer is degradation unspeakable. " 

Has she left her husband?" 

I think so, at least, since her return to Paris, she has 
taken up her abode in handsome apartments on the Boule- 
vard de la Madeleine." 

But what has become of Marteau, the suave and gen- 
tlemanly Marteau? The general could not prevent his dis- 
missal, but he certainly can not have left him to starve. 
To lose his place and his wife at the same time would be 
really too hard upon the worthy jailer. " 

‘ ^ Plancoet told me that he had found a place for him in 
the police-department. " 

Marteau is certainly well fitted for that vocation. " 

True, and I am very much afraid that he has been set 
upon poor Ohancelade's track." 

Marteau knows him by sight, it is true; and he must 
hate Louis with a mortal hatred, as he lost his position in 
consequence of Ohancelade's escape. It was not his fault, 
however. It was his wife who should have been punished, 
not he. " 

That is the way of the world, my dear fellow. You 
can now see the consequences of marrying an miprincipled 
woman. " 

^^Unquestionably. But tell me, have you no news of 
Ohancelade?" 

None whatever. All I know is, that he left Perigord 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


27 

^th the intention of going to America. I don^t know 
what has become of him^ but I am very much afraid that 
he is in Paris. If he is, he will certainly be arrested sooner 
or later. 

Coralie had not missed a word of this interesting conver- 
jBation. She had keen ears, and she kept close to the two 
gentlemen, wjio paid no attention to her, nor indeed to the 
other person^ by whom they were surrounded. 

She turned cold to the very marrow of her bones when 
she heard M. de Sigoules predict Louis Chancelade's speedy 
arrest; and her heart sunk within her when she heard them 
speak of Pierre Marteau^s new vocation; for she knew the 
ex- jailer must feel an intense hatred for his former pris- 
oner; and, finally, it occurred to her that the masked man 
who had followed her so persistently in the corridor was 
none other than Aurelie^s odious husband. 

Her consternation increased greatly, when, on turning, 
she perceived that this man was only a few steps from her, 
and that he was maneuvering to get still nearer. 

The two cousins had not paused in their confidential con- 
versation, and the spy would soon be within hearing. 

Even if they capture Chancelade, I defy them to con- 
vict him,^^ remarked Adhemar. 

^‘Yes,^^ replied the count; it is true there is that 
Manton gun. But they have not succeeded in discovering 
its owner yet, and until they do, Chancelade must neces- 
sarily be placed in a very unenviable position. But let us 
talk a little about your own affairs, my dear Adhemar. 
You are out of prison at last, thanks to me and to the gen- 
eral. I have brought you to Paris, and I shall stand by 
you until the end. You are my only heir, and I do not 
begrudge you a suitable allowance, though I have less 
money at my disposal this year than usual — the harvest 
having proved a failure— still, that will not prevent me 
from assisting you. Only, tell me what you intend to do. 
You have squandered most of your inheritance, and you 
have no means of gaining a livelihood. Paris is no place 
for you, and yet you have no fondness for a country life. 

I have half a mind to enlist in the African Chasseurs. 

‘‘ That would do very well if we had our rightful king. 

I should be serving France, all the same. 

You are right. At all events, it would be better than 


2S 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


loafing about the streets; and as you have come to this 
conclusion, I advise you to enlist immediately. 

'' I intend to very soon; but, first, I should like to feel 
better satisfied in regard to Louis Chancelade.-"^ 

You seem to take a great interest in that young man, 
though he is not on our side, and though you scarcely 
know him. 

That is true; but he is innocent, and if he should be 
convicted, I should despise myself for having accepted a 
pardon I did not deserve, as I was the leader of the insur- 
gents. 

These last words must have reached the ears of the 
masked man, who had finally succeeded in getting near the 
cousins, and Coralie felt that it was time to warn them. 

Stepping quic]]^ly to Adhemar's side, she slipped her 
arm through his, and compelling him to lean down, she 
said softly but hurriedly: . 

Take care. There is a detective right behind you. I 
know that you have nothing to fear, but if you wish to 
save Louis Chancelade, not another word about him. The 
spy who is now listening to your conversation is searching 
for him. 

Mussidan, greatly surprised, was about to reply; but 
Coralie disengaged herself, and vanished in the crowd be- 
fore he could attempt to detain her. 

She had done all that was necessary, and all she could do 
without drawing down upon herself the surveillance she 
wished to avoid; and now it was for these gentlemen to 
discover her meaning, and govern their actions according- 

ly- 

And, as a kind action is always rewarded, she found her- 
self suddenly free from the spy she had so long been trying 
to escape. 

No time must be lost in taking advantage of this unex- 
pected piece of good luck. The appointed hour had come, 
and Coralie was anxious to reach the corridor as soon as 
possible; but, unfortunately, it seemed to be decreed that 
obstacles should rise up before her at every step, for just as 
she was rushing out, she almost fell into the arms of Clara 
Lasource, who whispered: 

'' Would you believe it? I missed Adhemar. Some 
friends I met dragged me into their box, and when I man- 


I 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 29 

aged to make my escape from them, Adhemar had left 
his. 

' He is here in the foyer with his cousin Sigoules. Walk 
! on, and you will certainly meet them,^^ replied Coralie, 

I quickly, as she hastened on, and finally succeeded in pass- 
I ing through the door between the corridor and the foyer. 

Her trials were not yet over, however. 

I Vignory, after making a tour of the hall, had returned 
; to his starting-point in company with a gentleman whom 
Mile. Bernache little expected to see there, and who was 
j none other than young Mouleydier. 

The young provincial cut a sorry figure in this brilliant 
assemblage; his dress-coat was too tight in the arm-holes; 
his white cravat seemed to he strangling him, and his 
varnished boots, which were much too tight, hurt his feet 
cruelly. Bewildered by the confusion, blinded by the 
glare of the countless gaslights, he looked very like an owl 
that had lost its way; and in his secret heart he was bitterly 
cursing the weakness of his father, who had at last con- 
sented to furnish him with funds for the long-talked-of 
visit to Paris. To crown his misfortunes, he had unex- 
pectedly happened to meet the former sub-prefect of Sal- 
viac, and had conceived the unfortunate idea of speaking 
to him. 

Vignory, who now hated him bitterly for having mixed 
him up in the Chancelade affair, was now heaping oppro- 
brious epithets upon him, and calling him fool and bump- 
kin, and even spy, with such a vigor that the bystanders 
were really beginning to think of making an example of 
the unfortunate Martial. 

Coralie would have thoroughly enjoyed this scene, had 
she not been mindful of her appointment, and felt a little 
alarmed to see these Salviac people in the corridor. 

They would not be likely to recognize Chancelade behind 
his mask, but he would recognize them, and he might take 
it into his head that she had only been setting a trap for 
him in enticing him to this ball. In fact, she almost be- 
gan to hope that Louis would not come. 

J ust then, there appeared at the head of the stairs a tall 
gentleman attired in a black domino, who wore upon his 
breast the sprig of heather agreed upon. 

This new-comer must certainly be Chancelade, and he 
arrived at the exact hour, for it was precisely half past one 


30 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 


by the clock in the foyer. He was ascending the steps 
slowly^ like a man who sets foot in a strange place for the 
^rst tiine, and who does not know which way to go; more- 
over, his tall form towered so high above the crowd that it 
could not fail to excite remark if he walked through the 
corridor, so Coralie hastened forward to warn him of this 
danger. 

TJnfortuiiately, Vignory had finished with Mouleydier, 
who had just taken flight, and the ex-prefect, who was 
looking about for another victim, perceived the two domi- 
noes at the moment of their meeting, and promptly at- 
tacked them. 

Look at the pink heather he cried, in a voice husky 
with liquor. Where did you gather it, my little dears? 
It looks very much out of place here— reminds one too 
much of the evergreen country. Haven ^t you ten francs to 
purchase two respectable bouquets of a florist ?^^ 

Coralie had seized Ohancelade by the arm, and was try- 
mg to drag him along; but he resisted, and looked search- 
ingly at Vignory. His eyes flashed ominously through his 
mask, and poor Coralie read in them an intense desire to 
rush upon the ex-prefect. Come with me, I beg of you," ^ 

she pleaded, in a voice that trembled with excitement. I 
have a box where we shall be safe."" 

Chancelade finally allowed himself to be led away; but 
Vignory would not give up his prey, but followed them, 
keeping up a running fire of sneering remarks, and several 
bystanders followed him. 

Coralie felt Chancelade "s arm tremble beneath her re- 
straining hand, and their walk seemed interminable. 

They finally reached the box, however, and Vignory de- 
cided to beat a retreat, though not until after he had in- 
dulged in one more jibe. 

hen the door was once closed between them and their 
tormentor, Coralie breathed more freely; but the situation 
was^ rather embarrassing, and she did not know how to 
begin the conversation. 

Chancelade solved the difficulty, however, by saying, 
coldly: 

My friend Jacques tells me that you wish to see me, 
mademoiselle. I sent him to your house to thank you, 
and also to keep my promise to inform you of my arrival 


■ 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


31 


'm Paris; but I deeply regret that I consented to come here 

knight. 

! I Because you find here that odious sub-prefect who had 
;pu arrested? Had I known that he intended to come, I 
would have guarded against making this appointment with 
you. But he can not harm you now. He has been re- 
510 ved from office^ ^ 

' j He can denounce me. 

' j He did not recognize you. There is no danger so far 
, ^ he is concerned; but the former keeper of the prison is 
■ here. ■ 

' i Have you seen him?^^ 

. I have not seen his face, for he is masked; but I am 
sure that it was Marteau who followed me about so closely 
and persistently a short time ago. He, too, has lost his 
place; but he was recently appointed a member of the 
police force, and he is the more to be feared from the fact 
that he just overheard a conversation in relation to you. 

I He heard the Count de Sigoules tell his cousin. Monsieur de 
Mussidan, that you must be concealed in Paris. 

What! are they, too, at this ball?^^ 

It seems to me all Salviac is here. Monsieur de Mus- 
sidan has just been released, and his noble cousin, who 
secured his pardon, has brought him to Paris. That young 
rascal, Mouleydier, who denounced you, was in the corridor 
only a moment before your arrival. And, look! do you 
see that box opposite you on the other side of the hall?^^ 
The one occupied by an old gentleman and a lady in a 
domino 

‘‘Yes. The gentleman is the Marquis de Plancoet, and 
the lady is Madame Marteau herself, the generaPs divinity, 
and Monsieur de Mussidan ^s dehverer.'^'^ 

“ I am very grateful to you, madame, for this valuable 
information, and I think the best thing I can do is to leave 
a place in which all my enemies seem to have congregated. ^ ^ 

“You forget that you have a friend who is ready to aid 
you — your comrade must have said as much to you. 

“ Jacques told me that you might possibly procure us 
the passports we need. 

“ I hope so. I know a Eussian who refuses me nothing. 
He is not in the city now, but he will be here in a few days, 
and he is such an important personage in his own country 
that he will have no difficulty in obtaining from his embas- 


32 


THE PKETTT JAILER. 


sador in Paris a passport containing a i)ersonal description 
that will correspond with yours. Give me a week^ and I 
will pledge myself to secure you this passport. 

It seems more than likely that I shall be obliged to 
remain here several months longer for want of a chance to 
leave the country. 

Then I shall be sure to succeed. But it may be nec- 
essary for me to see you again^ and your friend Jacques 
refused to tell me where you live. 

It was at my request that he did so. 

So you distrust me?^^ 

'Noy mademoiselle; but Jacques and I are not always 
alone in the lodgings we occupy. I can call at your house 
occasionally, and we can then tell each other any news we 
may have heard. 

^^If this arrangement had been proposed to me this 
morning, I should have been very well satisfied; but now I 
fear that my house is watched. It certainly will be if this 
jailer who has turned spy recognized me just now; and I 
should never forgive myself if I were the cause of your 
ruin. Jacques tells me that you climb to the top of Mont- 
martre every day about noon. Could I not meet yoii 
there 

Certainly, mademoiselle. And yet, if this man should 
see you leave home, and follow you — 

I shall take my precautions; besides, I shall not vent- 
ure to meet you until after I have satisfied myself that he 
is not standing guard in the Rue Mogador; but I thank 
you for not refusing me the pleasure of seeing you. If you 
knew how much I have suffered from the terrible suspense 
in which I have lived since you left me at Puyrazeau — 

AVhat do those people want?^^ interrupted Chancelade, 
a little vexed with Coralie, who had at last succeeded in 
giving the interview a sentimental turn. 

As he spoke, he pointed to a band of grotesquely attired 
yomig men who were dancing and capering about wildly 
directly under the box, shouting and gesticulating in the 
most frantic manner all the while. 

Their cries and gestures were evidently addressed to the 
occupants of the box, and Coralie, glancing down, recog- 
nized among them that same Marcas whom Clara Lasource 
had invited to sup with her — Marcas, the boon companion 
of Vignory, who could not be far off. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


33 

'' They seem to be calling you/' continued Oliancelade.. 

They were calling her^ in fact; foi% above the music of 
the lancers_, which had just come into fashion^ sounded loud 
calls of: 

Co-ra-lie! Co-ra-lie!^^ 

That young lady felt a strong desire to sink through the 
floor, and to complete her misfortunes, the quadrille sud- 
denly terminated, and the disorderly, boisterous crowd with 
Marcas at their head, attempted to niake their way up into 
the box by climbing upon one another's shoulders. 

Chancelade rose, and without reflecting on the unfortu- 
nate consequence of such a conflict, prepared to give them 
a warm reception if they ventured to force their way into 
the box. ^ 

Coralie, who was more prudent, hastily took refuge in 
the back part of the box, and endeavored to expostulate 
with her rather rash protector. 

Do you want to ruin yourself she cried. If you 
get into any difficulty with these idiots, you will all be 
taken to the station-house, where you will be asked to give 
your name. This you would refuse to do, of course, and 
as a natural consequence, you would be sent to prison. 
Come, quick. We still have time to make our escape be- 
fore they can cut off our retreat by the corridor. Come, I 
say!^^ 

Chancelade perceived the' wisdom of this advice, and 
though it was hard for him to give way to the unruly 
youths he longed to thrash soundly, he followed Coralie 
out of the box. 

As soon as she saw Louis at her side, she started down 
the corridor, and sure now that he would not loiter by the 
way, she flew swiftly on until she suddenly found herself 
confronted by the terrible domino from whom she had 
Anally escaped, as she hoped, some time before. 

He was now standing upon the threshold of the open 
door, effectually blocking the way, for a person must have 
been slender indeed to pass between the wall and this living- 
obstacle. 

Chancelade did not stop for ceremony, however; but, 
sending the man reeling to one side by a vigorous push, 
he^drew Coralie quickly along after him. 

is he!'" Coralie whispered, as they hurried on. 

Tear off your spray of heather, and let us get away from 


84 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


here as soon as possible. He will probably follow us; but 
once outside, we can escape him by taking a carriage. 

Chancelade perceived that there was nothing else to be 
done, so he crumpled up his boutonniere in his hand, and 
flew down-stairs after Mile. Bernache. 

At the first landing they came to he turned and saw that 
the spy was still following them. 

Very well,^^ thought Louis; I will see my companion 
safely in a carriage, and afterward, if this rascal contmues 
to dog my footsteps, I will treat him as he deserves. 
Jacques must be down-stairs, and if we find this is really 
that wretch of a Marteau, we will break his head for 
him. 

TMs plan differed widely from that of Ooralie, however. 
Anxious to increase Chancelade ^s burden of obligation to- 
ward her, she had hoped to take him home with her and 
secrete him there, at least until the next day. 

To do this it was absolutely necessary that they should 
elude the vigilance of this detective, but Coralie counted 
^pon the chances of the crowd that generally gathers about 
the entrance to a ball-room. 

She ceased to feel any fear of failure when she saw in 
the distance Jacques standing upon the portico in front of 
the theater. 

It was not yet two o^clock; and in those days, as now, it 
was fashionable to arrive late; so a crowd of gentlemen 
were entering the door just as Ooralie and Chancelade 
reached it; but Coralie, who had sharp eyes, distinguished 
through this throng the tall form of the faithful Jacques 
leaning upon his cane. 

The reason the police had allowed him to stand there 
was probably because they mistook him for a detective, 
and really, though he did not resemble one in physiogno- 
my, he certainly did in costume. 

This fact struck Coralie, and suggested a singular plan 
that might prove successful, provided it was quickly and 
cleverly executed. 

Chancelade was walking along beside her, but she had 
not taken his arm; and the spy did not dare to follow them 
too closely, so Coralie had time to recollect that Pierre 
Marteau would not recognize this forester who had never 
been an inmate of his prison, and consequently that Jacques 


THE PEETTY JAILEK. 35 

could safely enter into conversation with Aurelie^s hus- 
band. 

She accordingly directed her steps straight toward Chan- 
celade's devoted friend, and as she passed him, said, hasti- 
ly, in subdued tones: 

The man who is following Louis and me is the former 
keeper of the Salviac prison. Manage to stojD him, and to 
detain him until we can get into a carriage. He now be- 
longs to the detective corps. Try to make him believe 
that you are one of his colleagues. 

Jacques did not understand at first, and he might have 
remained completely mystified, had he not noticed the 
spray of heather pinned upon the domino of the speaker; 
but he quickly divined the situation, and as he was the 
possessor of no little sang-froid, he gave no start of sur- 
prise, and Coralie passed on without any one noticing that 
she had even spoken to him. 

Chancelade himself was scarcely aware of the fact. He 
recognized his friend, but he was not guilty of the impru- 
dence of entering into a conversation with Jacques under 
the very eyes of the detective who was close upon his heels. 
On the contrary, he confined himself to making a sign that 
meant : 

Wait for me. 

A victim to conflicting orders, our shrewd Jacques never- 
theless had the good sense to obey the more imjDortant of 
them. 

Feeling that she could safely rely upon the intelligence 
and courage of the brave youth she had seen on the roof of 
the prison at Salviac, Coralie thought only of completing 
the work so well begun. 

Seizing Chancelade tightly by the arm, she hurried him 
toward the door, saying as she did so: 

I have just warned your friend. He will do whatever 
may be necessary to rid us of this man. Quick, get into a 
carriage with me, or all will be lost!^^ 

Chancelade felt that this was no time for argument, so 
he yielded. 

They passed through the door without accident, but on 
the upper step they were obliged to pause to allow a crowd 
of maskers to pass. 

The spy took advantage of this enforced delay to stealth- 
ily approach them, and Jacques, in turn, availed himself 


36 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


of this opportunity to pass out by another door^ and take 
his stand at the foot of the steps. 

The critical moment had come. Everything now de- 
pended upon Coralie^s presence of mind^ and she had 
plenty of it. 

Perceiving a coach that was just discharging its load in 
front of the theater, she rushed forward, without relaxing 
her hold on Ohancelade, pushed aside a lad who was hold- 
ing the door open, gave the coachman a fictitious address, 
and took immediate possession of the vehicle into which 
Ohancelade instantly followed her. 

Behind this carriage there was another which another 
party was about vacating, and the spy ran toward that with 
the evident intention of following the vehicle which was 
bearing away Ohancelade and Ooralie. 

The idea was a capital one, but he did not foresee one 
obstacle that was about to present itself. 

•At the third step, he came into violent colhsion with 
Jacques. The shock made him reel, whereupon Jacques, 
though all the while pretending to be making strenuous 
efforts to steady his victim, dexterously tripped him up, 
throwing him fiat upon his back, amid the shouts of the 
bystanders. 

The trick was a success, for' the carriage was already 
rolling swiftly toward the boulevard; still Jacques was not 
satisfied. He was the first to assist the man to rise, and 
when the spy was again upon his feet, the delinquent was 
profuse in his apologies, which were not very graciously 
received, however. The victim swore lustily, and evinced 
a decided inclination to thrash the author of his misfortunes. 
Jacques had his reasons for keeping his temper, but he 
entered into an argument with his would-be assailant, in 
order to prolong the conversation, and a crowd soon gath- 
ered around them. 

A policeman came up to disperse this crowd, which 
promptly yielded to his authority, but when he rather 
roughly ordered the man in the domino to move on, that 
individual curtly replied that he had a right to remain 
there; and in proof of this assertion, he displayed something 
which Jacques was unable to catch a glimpse of, but which 
seemed to be accepted as satisfactory evidence of the truth 
of his words, for the policeman insisted no further, and 
Jacques, who had kept his distance during the controversy. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 37 

now approached, and said, as his victim turned, growling, 
away: 

Excuse me, comrade, but now that I know who you 
are, I am even more sorry for having been the innocent 
cause of your accident. 

Hold your tongue was the surly reply. 

Don^t be angry. I, too, belong to it. 

To what?^^ 

To the detective service, of course. You donT know 
me, because you belong to the political brigade. 

‘‘ I belong to nothing of the kind, and I tell you again to 
let me alone. 

‘‘You do very wrong to treat a comrade in this way. 
You neediiT tell me that we donT sail in the same boat. I 
saw you show your badge to the policeman just now. Be- 
sides, I did not need that proof to convince me. Just by 
seeing you follow those two persons so persistently, I knew 
that you must belong to the service. You have missed 
them — 

“ And it was all your fault. If you had not tripped me 
up, I should have caught the other carriage. 

“ I did not do it intentionally; besides, I have it in my 
power to atone for the inconvenience I have caused you. 
I took the number of the carriage. That is a habit I have 
acquired since I entered the service, and I have always 
found it a very useful one. Knowing this number, it 
would be an easy matter for me to learn where the coach- 
man took the parties you were following, but I have no 
desire to interfere with you. 

“ Then tell me the number. 

“ So you at last admit that we are colleagues, do you? 
Ah ! well, now come and take a drink with me, like a good 
fellow, if you want me to furnish you with the means of 
finding- those parties. 

“ My costume prevents. I can not enter a wine-shop 
with this confounded thing on my back. 

“ To say nothing of the mask that would prevent you 
drinking. J ust step into that little by-street over yonder. 
You can easily take ofi all that fiummery there, and roll 
it up into a bundle, which you can carry under your arm. 
There is nothing to prevent you from resuming your dis- 
guise afterward, if your duties at the ball are not ended. 

“ I have nothing further to do there. I am acting en- 


as 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


tirely upon my own responsibility. In fact, I have taken 
it upon myself to discover a person accused of assassination, 
and I somehow got it into my head that he would attend 
this ball to-night. I was not mistaken. I recognized the 
lady who was with him by her voice. She is the person 
who assisted him in escaping from the prison in which he 
was confined. 

Yes; the prison of a small provincial town, whose 
name I have forgotten. 

Salviac, in Perigord. But how did you learn all this.^^^ 

A description of this offender was given to each of us, 
though the affair does not exactly come under our special 
province, the crime being a pohtical one. I tell you this, in 
order to convince you that some credit is due me for not 
claiming my share, for a very hberal reward will be given 
to the person who arrests the offender. 

I would gladly relinquish every cent of the reward to 
you, if you will put me in a position to find him. 

That would be too generous on your part. We will 
share the spoil and, if you like, I, too, will search for the 
fugitive. But doiiT let us linger here any longer. We 
shall be sure to attract attention. 

This conversation had taken place on the pavement in 
front of the theater, in the n^idst of a noisy, bustling 
throng. 

J acques now led his companion to the Eue Eossini, then 
known as the Eue Puion, where Ohancelade^s pursuer 
made no objection to unmasking and removing his domino, 
as there was no one in sight. 

Jacques had never seen the ex- jailer, but Louis had de- 
scribed him so perfectly that our friend had no difficulty in 
recognizing him. 

It was certainly Pierre Marteau, and though disappoint- 
ment and chagrin had effected a very perceptible decrease 
in his weight, he was even more sullen and crabbed than 
before. 

Jacques was entirely satisfied now, and there was nothing 
left for him to do but to start Aurelie^s husband off on 
the wrong scent. 

I will detain you no longer, my dear comrade, ^Mie 
said, pleasantly. The number of the carriage was 954. 
You can learn the driver ^s address at the prefecture, and 
if you will give me yours, I will keep you posted in regard 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


39 


to the progress I make in my efforts to assist you in captur- 
ing your man. 

‘‘1 live at No. 81 Eue Saint-Louis/^ replied the ex- 
jailer, after some hesitation, and my name is Marteau. 
Tell me your name, and be kind enough to excuse me from 
drinking with you this evening. I am not thirsty. 

‘‘ As you please, comrade. My name is Trieffler. In- 
quire at police-headquarters, and they will tell you where I 
hve. Go home, and rest assured that you can depend upon 
me. I must now return to my post in the vestibule. 
Good-bye. 

And, as his victim walked sulkily away, Jacques turned 
upon his heel muttering: 

I caught you, but you didnff- catch me, old fellow. 
Search for the driver of No. 954, my good man. You will 
be none the wiser for what he is able to tell you. 


CHAPTEE II. 

While Louis Chancelade was meeting with these excit- 
ing adventures in Paris, his sister Edmee had at last suc- 
ceeded in reaching that city, after passing through a most 
tr 3 dng ordeal. 

She spent a fortnight without receiving any tidings of 
the two fugitives, and the frequent visits of her neighbor, 
M. Braconne, did not suffice to console her for their ab- 
sence. She even took a decided dislike to the worthy man 
who so persistently preached resignation to her. 

She took the encouragement Count de Sigoules gave 
her, every Saturday, in much better part; but she was 
no more inclined to follow his advice and patiently await 
the coming of better days than she had been at first. 

After the release of Adhemar de Mussidan,. the count 
accompanied his cousin to Paris, though not until after he 
had introduced him to Edmee, who was greatly surprised 
at the clemency shown to that young nobleman by a govern- 
ment that displayed such vindictiveness of feeling toward 
her brother. 

The interview had been exceedingly cold and constrained 
on the part of both these young people, in spite of the old 
count-’s efforts, and his ardent protestations of friendship, 

Edmee placed no dependence upon him in this matter of 


40 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


finding and vindicating her brother; on the contrary, she 
felt that she could depend only upon her own efforts. She 
could have trusted Jacques, but he was no longer there, 
having accompanied her brother to Paris, and if any mis- 
fortune befell one, the other would be sure to share his fate. 

She suspected that they did not write to her for fear of 
betraying the secret of their hiding-place; but Louis, in- 
stead of addressing his letters to her, could have sent them 
under cover of Dr. Thiviers who was so cautious and so 
kindly disposed toward both the brother and sister. 

At last, one market-day, a peasant woman who had 
served as Jacques^ messenger on several occasions, pre- 
sented herself at Edmee^s house, with a note which a youth 
of Lesguillac, the same who had acted as guide for the two 
fugitives, had just received from Paris. 

This note would have proved an enigma to any stranger 
vho attempted to read it, but not to Edmee, who mider- 
stood it perfectly. It read as follows: 

Oiir supplies are nearly exhausted, and we are ready to 
start with you. Ask the hardware-merchant on the 
Grand Eue for the address of his relative, Lucien Doradour, 
and come as soon as you can. 

This, doubtless, meant that the two friends were resid- 
ing under the roof of this same Doradour, a native of Sal- 
viac, who had left that town ten years before, and who was 
said to have amassed quite a snug little fortune. 

Edmee lost no time in making the necessary inquiries, 
but, unfortunately, the hardware-merchant was unable to 
give her the desired information, having entirely lost sight 
of his distant cousin. He thought he lived afc Montmartre, 
outside the city wall, which was still standing at that time, 
but this was the extent of his knowledge. 

Edmee promptly decided to start without this address, 
however, feeling sure that a town in the suburbs of Paris 
could not be much larger than Salviac, and that she would 
only have to take up her abode there, to speedily discover 
those she was seeking. 

She consulted no one; and one fine morning she took the 
stage for Perigueux in order to deceive such inhabitants of 
Salviac as might hear of her departure. From Perigueux, 
where no one knew her, she went to Bordeaux. There, 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 41 

^he took the diligence for Paris, after making a detour 
that consumed not less than four days. 

She was so fortimate as to have as a traveling-companion 
from Bordeaux a widow lady who was still young and 
attractive, and whose face and manners' impressed Edmee 
very favorably. They soon became quite well acquainted, 
and Mile. Ohancelade discovered that this lady intended to 
stay in Montmartre at a boarding-house which she had 
patronized during a previous visit to Paris, and this being 
the case, it was speedily decided that they should both go to 
the same house. 

In spite of the friendship that had sprung up between 
them, each of the ladies had been extremely reticent in 
regard to her personal matters. As we said before, the 
lady was a widow, and still wore mourning for her hus- 
band. 

Her name was Bastide; her family resided in Bordeaux, 
and she was going to Paris, she said, to assume possession 
of some property that had been bequeathed to her. 

Edmee, who did not wish to give her real name, found 
herself, for the first time in her life, reduced to the neces- 
sity of telling a falsehood. She had invented a story which 
she proposed to repeat to every one until she found her 
brother, and this story was not only simple but very plaus- 
ible. She was a Mile. Vedrines, a native of Bergerac, 
where her mother kept a boarding-school, and she was go- 
ing to Paris to await the arrival of a wealthy English fam- 
ily that had engaged her as governess. 

The small hotel, or rather boarding-house, in which 
Mme. Bastide proposed to take up her abode was kept by 
a very respectable woman, though a majority of the inns of 
that neighborhood were rather dingy and disreputable es- 
tablishments. 

Montmartre, however, was not then what it has since 
become, the hot-bed of riots and disorder, and a refuge for 
the disreputable of both sexes. 

It was still the abode of honest citizens, and frugal clerks 
who preferred to live there in order to escape the payment 
of heavy taxes. 

It was much less thickly settled than now, however, 
nearly all the houses had gardens, and the summit of the 
hill was a barren waste. 

Of all its former attractions there now remains only the 


42 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


view, which is remarkably fine from every pointy provided 
it is not cut off by the new buildings which are constantly 
springing up like an army of mushrooms. 

In those days, one could enjoy it from every window, 
and before those of the modest little room occupied by 
Edmee, lay a superb panorama; the whole city of Paris 
and the heights of Ohatillon beyond. 

This establishment, kept by a Mine. Gouverneur, the 
widow of a cavalry officer killed in Africa, had once been 
a private insane asylum, and the air of tranquillity and 
seclusion that pervaded it, was very pleasing to Edmee; 
besides, there was a large garden, shaded with tall chestnuts 
that reminded her a little of the chestnuts of Perigord. 

The inmates of the house, and a few persons who had 
rooms outside, dined together at a modest table-dniote, and 
Edmee and her new acquaintance, Mme. Bastide, agreed 
on their arrival to meet there every evening, each of them 
remaining free to employ her time durmg the day to suit 
herself. 

Mme. Bastide had to see her agent, she said, and the 
so-called Mile. Vedrines pretended that she would be 
obliged to call at the English Embassy every morning to 
ascertain if the family she was expecting had arrived from 
London. 

What she really intended to do was to thoroughly explore 
Montmai'tre, in order to discover the abode of Lucien 
Doradour. She could have asked Mme. Gouverneur if she 
knew any one of that name, but this inquiry might give 
rise to unpleasant suspicions-, so she decided to institute, a 
search herself and question concierges even passers-by, 
confident that she would eventally succeed. 

She started out the very next day after her arrival, and 
soon discovered that her task was not likely to prove an 
easy one. 

In the first place, she found Montmai’tre a much larger 
place than she had supposed. The hill formed the center 
of it, and the summit of this hill was very sparsely settled; 
but its base was surrounded by a net-work of irregular 
streets that spread over an enormous area. 

There was the side next to the city. La Chapelle and 
Batignolles on the fianks of the. hill, and also an extensive 
settlement back of the hill, on the side next the fortifica- 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 43 

tions. It would take her at least a week to visit, one by 
one, the houses clustered about this oval mountain. 

Edmee, who did not fully realize the magnitude of her 
task, began courageously on the slope next the city wall, 
going from house to house, inquiring if M. Doradour lived 
there. In some houses there was no concierge, and she 
could find no one to question; in others, she encountered 
ill-humored old porteresses who received her very migra- 
ciously. 

Not one of them could give her the slightest informa- 
tion. The native of Perigord, who had sheltered the two 
fugitives, seemed to be utterly unknown in this neighbor- 
hood. 

No one could tell her where Lucien Doradour lived, and 
after thoroughly exploring this locality, she came to the 
conclusion that he must reside in some other part of the 
town. She could not continue her search that day, for 
she had already walked several hours, and was very weary; 
but before she returned to Mme. Gouverneur^s hospitable 
roof, she resolved to climb to the top of the hill. 

From that point she could obtain a comprehensive view 
of the town, and she desired to become conversant with 
the topography of it before resuming her voyage of discov- 
ery the following day. 

The ascent was long and difficult, but Edmee finally 
reached the summit, and then she did not regret her trouble. 

At that time the summit was not crowned with the fan- 
tastic structures one sees there now. It was a barren waste 
— for even grass did not fiourish upon that chalky soil — 
frequented only by boys who went there to fiy their kites. 

From this culminating point, Edmee beheld other new 
and untried lands: the Plain Saint Denis in front of her; 
the heights of Belleville on her right; Mt. Valerien on her 
left, and below her on every side a host of dwellings, among 
which must be the house for which she had been vainly 
searching since morning. 

The view was so extensive, and the houses so numerous, 
that the young girl felt her powerlessness, and was well- 
nigh discouraged. How was she to discover the two fugi- 
tives who were so dear to her in the midst of the human 
ant-hill that was swarming at her feet? She, a helpless 
girl, lost in the immensity of this Paris where she knew no 
one save her brother’s enemies, and one friend, Httle dis- 


44 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


posed to compromise himself for 'Louis Cliancelade, still 
less for his former gamekeeper. 

This friend^ it is needless to say, was the Count de 
Sigoules, who had almost forbidden her to come there, and 
whom she was consequently by no means anxious to see. 

^ Her illusions vanished one by one, and she began to think 
with regret of her peaceful home in Salviac, where she had 
received tidings of the absent ones, and where she might 
have heard further from them, while now, she might be 
obliged to spend months near them without even seeing: 
them. ^ 

But how could she return to Salviac, where she would be 
obliged to relate the incidents of her fruitless journey to 
M. Braconne and l)r. Thiviers, who had both tried so hard 
to dissuade her from it? 

It would be much better to persevere until she had lost 
all hope of success. 

A faint sound aroused her from her sorrowful medita- 
tions, the sound of light footsteps, and turning quickly, 
she saw her new friend, Mme. Bastide, only a few feet 
from her. 

The meeting seemed a very fortmiate one to Edmee, and 
extending her hand cordially to the young widow, she said, 
pleasantly: 

The same whim seems to have taken possession of both 
of us, for you, too, have come, I suiipose, to eiiiov the 
magnificent view. 

Not exactly,"" replied the lady. The view is superb, 
but I have long been familiar with it. It was really a de- 
sire for solitude that brought me here, for there are mo- 
ments in every one"s life when one needs an opportunitv 
for refiection. "" rsr j 

Then, as Edmee rose from her seat upon a rock, as if to 
move away, Mme. Bastide added, quickly: 

Pray do not suppose that I regret finding you here, 
mademoiselle. You are the only person who inspires me 
with sufficient sympathy to make me feel willing to speak 
ot my troubles. Solitude is pleasant to those who are 
suffenng, but it does not cure them, while friendship heals 
their wounds. ” 

“ You never told me that you were unlia2ipy, my dear 
madame,^’ murmured the young girl, astonished at this 
oeginning. 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


45 


‘‘ Because I did not Avish to pain you. Have you not 
your sorrows also? You have just been Aveeping, I see very” 
plainly. 

“ Why should I attempt to deny it?^^ rejoined Edmee, 
drymg her eyes. 

‘ ‘ Ah ! Avelh let us confide our troubles to each other. 
Mine are of a nature that you can not have experienced, as 
you have never been married. Shall I tell you about them?^^ 
Yes; and if I can do aught to alleviate them — 

There is nothing that can alleviate them. My life 
has been utterly wrecked, and I shall never regain the 
happiness I havo lost; but if I had a true friend, I might 
sometimes forget what I have suffered. Do not be sur- 
prised to hear me speak in this way to a comparative 
stranger. I distrusted you at first — I distrust everbody,»I 
have so often been deceived— but I have learned to know 
you, and now I have nothing to conceal from you. Oh! do 
not fear that I Avish to force myself into your confidence, 
continued Mme. Bastide, who had doubtless read alarm 
in Edmee's countenance; I shall not ask you for your 
history, which can not be a very long one, for you are not 
yet twenty; and, as regards your present situation, I wish 
to know only what you feel inclined to tell me. 

This was said so frankly, and in such, a tone of perfect 
sincerity, that Edmee instantly dismissed the suspicions 
to which the strange opening of the conversation had given 
rise. 

I told you a falsehood when I said that it was the in- 
heritance of an estate that called me to Paris — I am im- 
pelled to this confession by another misfortune. An excess 
of misery is like an excess of happiness, in one respect, at 
least; it makes one feel an irresistible longing for a confi- 
dante, and I want you to know all, except, perhaps, my 
name. 

‘‘ Then the name you bear is not your own?^^ inquired 
Edmee, timidly. 

It is my mother ^s name, but I took another when I 
married, though I ceased to bear it several years before I 
became a widow. You do not understand, I see. You 
can not realize that my marriage was my ruin. Heaven 
preserve you from the fate that befell me. When I was 
about your age, I was comparatively wealthy, and I had 
a mother that adored me. I loved a young man who loved 


46 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


me ill return, and whom I hoped to marry, though we did 
not belong to quite the same rank in life. 

This being very like Edmee^s case, she began to listen 
with increased interest to the story. 

We lived in Bordeaux. A gentleman occasionally 
came to see us, a former friend of my father, who had died 
in a foreign land. He was cordially welcomed by my moth- 
er, and soon he asked my hand in marriage. I declined his 
offer. He declared that he would wait, and he did wait. 
Three months afterward, he circulated such slanderous re- 
ports about the man of my choice that my mother forbade 
me to see him, and I myself was weak enough to believe 
the calumnies that this wretch had invented. A few 
months afterward, he renewed his suit, and this time, 
yielding to my mother^s entreaties, I married him. I soon 
discovered that his sole object was to obtam possession of 
my fortune. He succeeded in doing this, and two years 
afterward — two years of maidyrdom — broken in health and 
in fortune, I sued for a divorce and obtained it by abandon- 
ing to him all the property I had left, and accepting from 
him an allowance that barelv sufficed for my maintenance. 
I never saw him again, but lived on broken-hearted until I 
heard of his death. 

That meant deliverance. 

Yes, and poverty as well. We had no children, thank 
God ! and he bequeathed by will all the property he pos- 
sessed to distant relatives, who refuse to continue to pay 
me the allowance to which I am entitled. I should have 
to resort to an expensive law-suit to compel them to pay it, 
and I have nothing to live upon in the meantime. My 
husband was in the employ of the government when he 
died, and I hoped that the state would grant me a pension, 
or at least, do something for my relief. I came to Paris to 
petition the government to do so, and have just learned 
that my request has been refused. There is nothing left 
for me now but to earn my own living, and that is what I 
have resolved to do. To-morrow I shall leave Madame 
Gouverneur^ where the living is too dear for me, and 
start out in search of employment. I can embroider very 
beautifully, and I hope that this accomplishment will gain 
me a livelihood. All this would be as nothing, if I could 
forget the past, but regret for the happiness I have lost is 
killing me. 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 


47 ' 


Then you entertain no hope of a reconciliation mth 
the young man you loved 

None whatever. Besides, he no longer loves me. ile 
thought that I was false to him, and he cursed me. He 
left Bordeaux after challenging my husband, who refused 
to fight with him, and I do not know what became of him. 
But forgive me, mademoiselle, for dwelling so long upon 
my misfortunes. In relating them to you I have yielded to 
an impulse for which I bitterly reproach myself, foi I can 
see that I have saddened you who have enough to bear 
already. I hope, however, that this sorrowful confession 
will not alienate you from me. ” 

“ I should be heartless, indeed, if it did, returned 
Edmee, quickly. “ On the contrary, it makes me love you 
all the more. I am suffering too much myself not to 
sympathize with those who are in trouble. 

“ Then I did not make a mistake in opening my heart 
to you,” replied Mme. Bastide. “ Let us be friends. Our 
friendship will alleviate our sorrows. I do not know yours, 
nor do I ask you to confide them to me ; hut if I can he of 
service to you in any way, pray do not hesitate to call upon 

me.^^ T 11- 

Alas! madame,^ ' sighed Edmee, I can ^do nothing 

for you, and you can do nothing for me, I fearT' 

Have you, too, been abandoned by the man you love? 
No; but he has gone away, and I shall never see him 

again, perhaps."^ . 

Why do you not join him? You seem to be sole mis- 
tress of your own actions, as you are traveling alone. 

That is true. I am free; and I came to Paris in the 
hope of finding him and my brother. . r„ 

And you arrived too late? Have they left the city.’' 

'' I think they are still here, but I do not know where to 
look for them. All I do know is, that they are in Mont- 
martre, and I was delighted beyond measure when you told 
me in the diligence that you intended to stop here. I sup- 
posed that Montmartre was a village, and that I should 
have no difficulty in finding them. I have just discovered 
my mistake. I have been searching for three hours, and 
no one can give me the address of the compatriot who has 
granted them an asylum. 

An asylum? They are hiding, theii?^^ 

Yes; though they have no cause to reproach them- 


48 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


selves. They were accused of taking part in a revolt that 
followed the recent couy d’etat. My brother was arrested; 
he succeeded in making his escape, but he is still under the 
shadow of a grave accusation, so grave, indeed, that his life 
is in danger. The man I love is less deeply compromised, 
but he h^ linked his destiny to that of my brother, and I 
made this journey to Paris in the hope of saving both of 

them. 

Saving them, how? Do you hope to secure a pardon 
for them? The men my husband served are pitiless.'’^ 

No; I expect nothing from them. It is my intention 
to embark for a foreign land with the two fugitives. I 
told you that I expected to enter an English family as a 
governess. This was not true, and you must forgive me 
for having invented the falsehood. I did not know you 

then. 

I, too, began by concealing my real situation from 
you; and as I have been guilty of the same offense, it 
would ill become me to reproach you for not revealing your 
secret to a stranger. But — excuse me for questioning you 
— but to reach a foreign land one must have money — 

I have plenty of that, but unfortunately passports are 
also necessary. 

^^And you see no way to procure them. Ah! well, I 
feel sure that the government will eventually repent of the 
rigorous measures it adopted immediately after the insur- 
rection, and that it will soon relax its surveillance — 

Never to the extent of permitting my brother's de- 
parture. We want to sail for America, and I suppose that 
at Havre, before embarkmg, passengers will be obliged to 
prove their identity. Besides, descriptions of my brother 
have been circulated everywhere — and he has no papers 
that would enable him to pass himself off for another per- 
son. 

There is, perhaps, a way to save us all.^^ 

You say us. Are you, too, under the ban?^^ 

No; but I do not care to remain in France, where I 
have neither relatives nor friends; and if you will allow me 
to go to America with you, I should be glad to do so. I 
have enough money left to pay my passage, and the govern- 
ment that has refused to aid me, certainly would not refuse 
me a passport, if it were only for the sake of escaping my 
claims upon it. ” 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


49 


That is quite probable/^ said Edmee, who did not ex- 
actly understand what Mme. Bastide was aiming at, how^- 
ever. 

^‘Ahl well/^ .continued the young widow, I might 
perhaps succeed in obtaining one for you, for your brother, 
and your betrothed. I could invent some plausible tale — 
pretend, for instance, that you were relatives of mine, and 
that we wished to leave France in order to settle in the 
United States. 

I have very little hope that they would believe you. 
Who knows? My husband w^as a zealous Bonapartist, 
and was appointed to quite a high office shortly before the 
cony cVetat, Certainly no one will suspect his widow of 
favoring the flight of enemies to the government he served 
— ^nor will any one think it strange, under the circum- 
stances, that I should desire to emigrate with my few re- 
maining relatives. Will you permit me to try?^^ 

I should be infinitely obliged to you so far as I myself 
am concerned; but I can not speak for the others, and be- 
fore giving you a decided answer, I must consult my broth- 
er, and in order to consult him, I must see him.^^ 

We will seek him together, then. I am quite familiar 
with Montmartre, and I will act as your guide; besides, 
with me your questions will excite less remark than if you 
were alone. Have you m^e any inquiries of our hostess, 
Madame Gouverneur ? ^ ^ 

I did not dare.^^ 

1 will; and it is very probable that she can give us the 
address of the friend who sheltered your brother. She has 
lived in Montmartre for twenty years, and is thoroughly 
posted in regard to all that goes on here. Even if she 
should be unable to furnish the desired information, she 
can make inquiries for us; and among the guests at the ta- 
Ue-d^hote there will surely be some one who has heard of 
your compatriot, provided, of course, that he is not a new- 
comer. What is his name ? ^ ^ 

Lucien Doradour; and I think he has lived here several 
years. It is a long time smce he left Perigord, and the per- 
sons I questioned before I left home had entirely lost sight 
of him, and were unable to give me his address; but I am 
sure that he is still in Montmartre. My brother said as 
much in his letter, but unfortunately he distrusted the post, 
and did not designate the house. 


oO 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


He made a great mistake. The more time you are 
obliged to spend in searching for him, the greater the risk 
you both run. But he must walk out sometimes, and you 
may perhaps meet him."'^ 

'' That is what I hoped, but I have given up all idea of 
it now.’^^ 

“ And why? You arrived here only yesterday, and you 
went out for the first time to-day. You will be more fort-? 
unate to-morrow, perhaiis.^^ 

“ I fear that he does not dare to show himself out of 
doors. He knows that the police have a description of 
him.'’^ 

“ It is qmte possible that he fears some unfortunate en- 
counter; still, that is no reason for you to feel discouraged. 
Let us search for him together,, and search until we find 
him; but this is not the place to look for him. The sun is 
already sinking below the horizon, and darkness must not 
overtake us in this lonely place. I think we had better re- 
turn to our boarding-house immediately.^^ 

“Very well, madame,^' replied Edmee, already uncon- 
sciously submitting to the stronger will of her new friend. 

They rose from the grass, and leisurely made their way 
back to the house whose roof was jilainly visible on the 
hill-side below them. 

The path was not a smooth one by any means. After 
traversing the sterile tract on the summit, it was roughly 
cut in the rock that composed the almost perpendicular 
side of the hill, and it was consequently difficult to climb, 
and far more difficult to descend. The ladies stumbled 
frequently, especially Mme. Bastide, who was much less 
accustomed to rough paths than Mile. Chancelade, who had 
served her apprenticeship on the rugged hills of Perigord, 
and who was consequently able to render her companion 
some assistance in the steepest places. 

There came a moment, however, when the young widow, 
after making a misstep, and nearly losing her balance, found 
herself dashing headlong down a very steeji descent, in 
spite of all her efforts to check her progress, and the next 
instant she was startled to find herself falling almost into 
the arms of a man who was approaching from the 02)posite 
direction. The shock very nearly destroyed the equilibrium 
of both parties, 3 ut fortunately the stranger had had time to 
plant himself firmly upon his feet, and, passing one arm 


THE PKETTY JAILM. 51 

about Mme. Bastide^s waist^ he helped her to steady her- 
self, saying, gently: . 

Compose yourself, madame. Even if you are pursued, 
you need have no fears. I will protect you. 

At the same time he politely removed from his mouth 
the pipe that he was smoking, and awaited her response. 

Mme. Bastide, glancing up, beheld a tall, well-built 
young man, with regular features, magnificent eyes, and 
a very pleasmg expression. 

Her preserver, if preserver he might be called, impressed 
her favorably at the very first glance, and she faltered a 
few words of thanks that would have been better chosen had 
she been less surprised. 

And really she had good cause for astonishment to find 
herself thus unceremoniously brought into contact with a 
well-dressed young man, who had the manners and used the 
language of an educated gentleman, here in this lonely spot, 
which was generally infested with vagabonds of the worst 
kind. ^ 

Is it your pleasure that I should escort you out of this 
wilderness this singular person finally inquired. 

‘‘I thank you, sir,^^ replied the lady ‘^butl am not 
alone. I came here with a friend. I left her behind, in 
spite of myself; but here she comes. 

Edmee was, in .fact, hastily approaching, but she stopped 
short on seeing Mme. Bastide in conversation with a gentle- 
man. 

'‘ Let us go to meet her,^^ suggested the stranger. " I 
think it would be well for me to explain what just occurred; 
otherwise she might feel some alarm. 

As he spoke, he bared his head, and advanced toward 
Mile. Chancelade, hat in hand. 

Two exclamations of surprise resounded at the same time. 

"Louisr 

" Edmee P" 

The brother and sister rushed into each other ^s arms, 
quite forgetting Mme. Bastide, who was watching the scene 
of recognition from a little distance. 

It was not difficult for her to divine that the so-called 
Mile. Vedrines had miraculously found the brother whose 
absence she was deploring; and she drew a little further 
back for fear of intruding upon their happiness. 

She even felt it her duty to turn her back upon them, 


62 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


and wait until they had concluded this interchange of ca- 
resses and confidential remarks. 

She was obliged to wait some time, for Louis Ohan- 
celaderwhose precarious position had rendered him more 
prudent, made many inquiries in regard to his sister ^s com- 
panion; and Edmee had to tell him how she had made the 
lady^s acquaintance, and how the stranger hoped to provide 
them with the means of leaving France in her company. 

This rather strange account should have aroused Chan- 
celade^s distrust, but he . accepted it without the slightest 
objection, and without expressing any doubt of the sincer- 
ity of a person whom his sister knew but slightly and with 
whom he himself had no acquaintance whatever. ' 

Ohancelade was a man of imiiulse, and Mme. Bastide 
had already inspired him with a great deal of interest. 

Coralie Bernache, who was much younger and prettier 
than this widow, pleased him much less, and seemed to 
him a much less trustworthy person, though she had already 
given conclusive proofs of her devotion. 

He was indebted to her for his escape from prison and 
from Marteau, and he owed absolutely nothing to Mme. 
Bastide ; but the heart can give no reason for its preferences, 
and Coralie had not touched his. 


This was not a suitable time to explain his feelings to his 
sister, however; nor even to give her a detailed account of 
his adventures since their separation. ^ 

Jacques is very well,.- and thinks only of you. You 
will see him to-morrow, he said to Edmee. l^ow, come 
and introduce me to your new friend. 

Edmee gladly assented; and after the introduction had 
been made in due form, Louis cordially offered his hand to 
Mme. Bastide, and said: ' 

My sister has just told me that you, too, desire to leave 
France, because you are unhappy here. It will be no fault 
of mine if we do not leave together. Permit me, however, 
to add that it is not n,ecessary for you to compromise your- 
self by endeavoring to obtain passports for us. I have 
a means of obtaining them which I can not explain, even 
to my sister. We shall be obliged to wait a week, possibly 
longer, he continued, and I do not think it will be ad- 
y-visable to make any change in our present arrangements. 
My sister and I could not live together without great dan- 
ger, but we can meet each other here at hours when the 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


53 


place is little frequented. If Edmee discovers that she is 
watched, she can cease to come, and you, who have no rea- 
son to fear the police, can bring me news of her.^^ 

I will gladly do so,""^ was the prompt response. 

I must know where you are living, though, said 
Edmee. I have been looking for Doradour^s house all 
day, but did not succeed in finding it. The person to 
whom you bade me apply for information could give me 
none.^^ 

The house stands at the end of a sort of lane that bears 
no name,^^ answered Louis. You can see it from here 
— that pointed roof, covered with red tiles — 

But how do you reach it?^^ 

You must walk down the boulevard that skirts the city 
wall; and opposite the city gate you will see a narrow street. 
Doradour lives at the end of it, in a little house with a yard 
inclosed by an iron fence in front of it. Do not come 
there unless it is absolutely necessary for you to see me ; 
for it will be much safer for you to meet me here every 
day, just above the spot where we are now standing. 
When there is anything to prevent me from coming, I will 
send Jacques. He is so anxious to see you, that I will send 
him at noon to-morrow. He will he greatly pleased this 
evening, when I tell him what has occurred. Now I must 
also know where you are living. 

You can see the house frqm here — that large white 
building. It is on the Eue des Abbesses. 

I know; but I shall not risk a visit there unless I am 
compelled to by some unforeseen event. 

And now we must part.^^ 

So soon?^^ murmured Edmee, sadly. 

To-morrow Jacques will tell you why. 

Will you not accompany him?^^ 

I can not say now. In any case, you will find some 
one here, and if I do not come to-morrow, I will see you on 
the following day. Kiss me, little sister, and do not grieve. 
Something t^ells me that our misfortunes are fast coming 
to an end — our misfortunes and yours, madame,^^ added 
Louis, looking at Mme. Bastide, who seemed to him more 
and more charming. 

I hope so, indeed, now that I have fomid two friends, 
she replied, with real emotion. 


54 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


AurevoirP^ said Ohancelade, hastening on up the 
steep path where the young widow had fallen into his arms. 

Edmee, who had scarcely, recovered from her first sur- 
prise, sadly took* her friend^s arm, and together they re- 
turned to the house of Mme. Gouverneur. 

Neither lady felt inclined to talk. Edmee was Avonder- 
ing, with a vague uneasiness, Avhat had taken her brother 
to the top of the hill just as night was coming on, and 
Mme. Bastide was thinking of the young man whose firm, 
frank language had awakened memories of other days. 
The man she had loved in former years spoke thus, and 
she fancied that Ohancelade resembled him. 

The walk was not a long one, and they reached the house 
before they had exchanged a single word. 

They dined at five o^clock in this modest establishment, 
and when they reached the gate they heard the bell ringing 
to summon the boarders. The ladies, consequently, had 
only time for a very hasty toilet, and when they w^ent 
down-stairs they found several persons already assembled 
in the dining-room. 

The room was large, but very plainly furnished, the 
walls being hung with cheap paper and adorned with highly 
colored lithographs of a war-like character: Napoleon, 
wounded at Eatisbonne, and Poniatowski, leaping into the 
Elster upon his horse. Two or three lamps fastened to 
the wall, and another suspended from the ceiling, lighted 
this apartment, which looked very much like a college 
refectory. 

The table was surrounded by cane-seat chairs, but that 
day, for a wonder, the table-cloth — which was usually 
changed only on Sunday — was of dazzling whiteness, and 
both a claret and a champagne-glass stood at every plate. 

These unusual preparations denoted the expected pres- 
ence of a guest of distinction, and another very significant 
symptom was that Mme. Gouverneur, instead of occupying 
the place reserved for her in the middle of the table, was 
moving briskly about, scolding the maids, and occasionally 
disappearing to give certain instructions to her cook. 

The hostess was a stout lady who had once had consid- 
erable pretensions to good looks, and who was quite im- 
posing in appearance even now. She treated her boarders 
with dignified familiarity, never allowing political discus- 
sions to degenerate into quarrels, and of late she had often 


THE PRETTY JAILER. ‘ 55 

been obliged to assert her authority^ for her guests were not 
all of the same opinion by any means. 

The majority, composed of former army officers, ap- 
IDroved of the cou'p d’etat^ and did not hesitate to express a 
desire for the restoration of the empire; but there were also 
private citizens. Liberals of 1830, and retired merchants 
' who clung tenaciously to a republican form of government, 

Edmee and Mme. Bastide had not dined at the public 
table the evening before, as they did not arrive until after 
the dinner-hour; consequently they were acquainted with 
no one. That being the case, they very naturally kept a 
little apart from the others while waiting for the meal to 
begin, and they attracted very little attention, most of the 
guests being too old to notice a pretty woman. 

Mme. Gouverneur, busy as she was, fomid an opportu- 
nity to tell them that one of her boarders had invited an old 
army friend, a person of distinction, to dine with him that 
evening, and that the repast would be of an exceptionally 
elegant character in consequence. 

The two friends would have been glad to dispense with 
this unusual display. They had no heart for gayety, and 
champagne had no charms for them; so they began to 
discuss the advisability of having their dinner served in one 
of their apartments, but finally decided that such a request 
might cause inconvenience as well as unfavorable comment, 
to say nothing of the fact that they would probably be 
obliged to dine very late upon the remnants of the feast. 

Edmee felt quite anxious to know who the expected guest 
would be, for she dreaded any surprise, and especially any 
new meetuig, but the great personage in question not 
making his appearance, she finally decided to seat herself 
at the lower end of the table, a§ far as possible from the 
seats the hostess had reserved for the noble stranger and his 
entertainer; but had she foreseen the surprise that was in 
store for her, she would certainly have beaten a hasty 
retreat to her own room. 

The other boarders followed the example of the new- 
comers. They were hungry and tired of waiting; besides, 
they thought the hostess was taking too much upon herself 
to thus defer the dinner in honor of a stranger. . 

Mme. Gouverneur found herself obliged to yield to the 
wishes of her guests, and reluctantly taking possession of 
her seat, she gave orders for the soup to be brought in. 


56 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


It promptly made its appearance^, and some of the guests 
had already finished their portion when Captain Ratihal 
entered, accompanied by a gentleman with a gray mustache, 
and a military bearing. 

Mme. ^ Gouverneur bowed to them, and with a majestic 
gesture indicated the seats reserved for them directly op- 
posite hers. They took them, after the captain had mo- 
tioned to the hostess to disturb no one, and they immedi- 
ately devoted their attetion to the soup, like the others. 

This unassummg behavior did not prevent the Jiabitties 
of the place from staring at the stranger, and exchanging 
whispered comments on his appearance. 

He had a decidedly distinguished air, and wore the rosette 
of an ofiicer of the Legion of Honor in the button-hole of 
his black frock-coat, which, in itself, was quite enough to 
awe the petty bourgeois present, and excite the curiosity of 
the retired officers. 

Some took him for a general, and Mme. Gouverneur, who 
had been enlightened in advance by Captain Eatibal aston- 
ished everybody by saying in a loud voice: 

Monsieur le Comte, will you do me the honor to take 
some more soup?^^ 

The soup is excellent, madame,^^ replied the captam^s 
guest, politely, but with your permission I will save my- 
self for the bouilli,^^ 

This friendly manner set everybody at ease, and the con- 
versation soon became animated, but the title of coimt had 
produced its effect, and each person felt obliged to exercise 
a certain amount of reserve in his remarks. 

Edmee was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she 
scarcely noticed the entrance of the distinguished guest, and 
she did not glance up at him until she heard his voice. 

She lifted her eyes then, but only to lower them again 
almost instantly, for in the stranger she recognized the 
Comte de Sigoules, and of all the acquaintances she could 
have met in Paris, he was perhaps the one she most dreaded 
to see, for he had well-nigh forbidden her to come there, 
and she felt almost guilty in the presence of the worthy 
nobleman who had so kindly interested himself in her 
brother's behalf. 

Her first impulse was to leave the room; but she reflect- 
ed that this abrupt departure would certainly attract gen- 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 57 

eral attention to her, and that it would be better for her to 
try to conceal herself as much as possible. 

The room was not very brilhantly hghted, and Edmee 
and Mme. Bastide were sitting in the shadow, while the 
light of the hanging-lamp shone full upon M. de Sigoules, 
so it was not strange that he failed to notice these ladies, 
especially as they took no part in the general conversation. 

What is the matter with you, my dear Edmee 
whispered Mme. Bastide. 

Me.^ Nothing, stammered the yoimg girl. 

You turned jpale on seeing that gentleman. Do you 
know him?^^ 

Yes; he is from my own neighborhood.-^^ 

Then he probably knows you as well as you know him. 
Hd is an enemy, perhaps 

No; on the contrary, he is a friend. 

Then you can have nothing to fear from him?^^ 

No; but I would much prefer that he did not see me 
here, and I wish you would talk to me as much as possible, 
so he will be less, likely to notice me. 

I will do so, of course. You may think it strange, but 
it seems to me that this is not the first time I have seen 
him. Is he a native of Perigord?^^ 

Yes. He resides all the year on his estates. 

Still, he must leave home sometimes, as he is here. I 
must have met him in Bordeaux. Will you think me too 
inquisitive if I ask you his name?^^ 

I donT mind telling you. It is Monsieur de Sigoules. 
And he owns a chateau near Sal me, does he not?^^ 

Yes. How do you know?^^ 

‘^I met him in Bordeaux a long time ago, faltered 
Mme. Bastide, becoming more and more agitated. Has 
he not a near relative who will be his heir — a relative much 
younger than himself 

Yes, a cousin — ^the Baron de Mussidan. 

^^^And is this cousin still hving?^^ inquired the young 
widow, eagerly^ 

Yes,^^ replied Mile. Chancelade, who could not under- 
stand her friend ^s curiosity. 

Do you know where he is?^^ 

He was in prison until a short time ago, but Monsieur 
de Sigoules succeeded in securing his release, and brought 
him to Paris, and he is here now probably. 


58 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


In prison! Why?^^ 

For participating in an insurrection against the gov- 
ernment, like my brother. They pardoned him, thanks to 
his uncle ^s influence, but showed no mercy to Louis, who 
would still be a prisoner had he not been fortunate enough 
to make his escape. 

‘‘ But the insurrection was in the arronclisse^nent of 
Salviac, was it not? In that case, your brother can not 
belong in Bergerac.*’^ 

No, madame; nor do I. When I told you so, I did 
not know you well enough to trust you implicitly, but now 
you have seen my brother, I have nothing more to conceal 
from you. May I ask, now that you know all, why you 
take such an interest in Monsieur de Mussidan?^^ 

Mme. Bastide would, perhaps, have found it difficult ta 
reply, but a timely diversion spared her the necessity. 

Captain Eatibal, who was anxious to entertain his old 
comrade brilliantly, had not waited for the dessert to make< 
its appearance to offer champagne to the company. 

The corks had just been drawn, and Mme. Gouverneur^s 
maids were running about the table, filling the glasses. 

Mme. Bastide made no objection, for fear of attracting 
attention; and Edmee felt obliged to follow her example. 

They both hoped to escape by merely moistening their 
lips with the wine, but the captain had no such intentions. 

He rose, and proposed the count ^s health in the mpst 
flattering terms. 

To my brave comrade, Sigoules, who would to-day be 
a general of division, had he not thought it his duty to 
break his sword in 1830, and who has been so very kind as 
to accept the modest invitation of a former member of the 
body-guard. 

This toast was well received, though some of those pres- 
ent had advocated the revolution of July, and M. de Si- 
goules returned thanks for the compliment in a few well- 
chosen words. ' 

Unfortunately he did not stop there. Having taken the 
trouble to climb to Montmartre to accept the invitation of 
an old comrade he had met by chance, the evening before 
M. de Sigoules was resolved to do the thing handsomely, 
and show the utmost politeness to the other guests at the 
table-d^Mte. 

They amused him exceedingly, and this little experience 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


09 


in circles that he had never frequented, interested him as 
much as a voyage of discovery. 

So he rose, in his turn, as soon as the applause had sub- 
sided, and glass in hand, he said, in liis clear, sonorous 
voice: 

Now, gentlemen, I drink to the ladies 

All the members of the fair sex rose, as with one accord, 
and Mme. Gouvernem’ nearly fell over the table in her 
eagerness to touch her glass to that of the old nobleman — 
all except two. 

Taken unawares by this general invitation, Edmee and 
her friend knew not what to do, but hoped to escape notice 
by not rising from their seats. They were doomed to dis- 
appointment, however. 

The count was too well-bred to reproach them for not 
responding to his toast; but Mme. Gouverneur, who spared 
no one, thus addressed them: 

‘^Ah! well, madame and mademoiselle, will you not 
condescend to drink with us.^^^ 

^ And as the young widow replied with a sign in the nega- 
tive, she continued in still louder tones: 

I hope you will not offer Monsieur le Comte the affront 
of remaining seated. 

Edmee longed to sink through the floor, and Mme. 
Bastide was almost as much embarrassed by the turn 
affairs had taken. 

The old nobleman, who deemed the scene inflnitely 
amusing, thought to mend matters by saying: 

The ladies are quite right. I shall venture to present 
my request in person, and then I flatter myself that they 
will not prove so hard-hearted as to refuse. 

And with an agility that would have done honor to a 
young man, he pushed back his chair, and started down 
to the further end of the table in search of the two delin- 
quents. 

Mme. Bastide rose to await his coming in the hope of 
screening Edmee, who sat next to her. The count ad- 
dressed her courteously, and paid her a very well-turned 
compliment, but did not seem to recognize the widow, who 
was looking at him with all her eyes. 

Then came Edmee "s turn. Seeing there was no help 
for it, she had summoned up all her courage, and now stood 
awaiting the dreaded ordeal, having j)i’epared in advance a 


60 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


short sentence which she now uttered in tones that could 
be heard only by M. de Sigoules: 

Pray, do not call me by name. After dinner I will 
explain all. 

The old nobleman, during his eventful career, had met 
with so many surprises of every kind, that this meeting 
with Edmee ought not to have destroyed his sang-froidy 
but he found it difficult, indeed, to repress his astonish- 
ment when he suddenly recognized her. 

He did not utter the name she entreated him to keep a 
secret; in fact, he said not a single word, but he forgot to 
drink, and it was the young girl who touched her glass to 
that of the count. 

He quickly recovered himself, however, and after apolo- 
gizing for his insistence, he returned to his seat amid the 
applause of the witnesses of this little scene; but he 
was now possessed with an intense desire to see the 
dinner over, so he could have an interview with Edmee, 
being anxious to question her about her present position, 
and her plans for the future. He was not offended with 
her for having left Salviac without his permission, and was 
ready and willing to serve her, even now. 

Mme. Bastide interested him much less deeply. 

He thought her pretty, but he did not remember to have 
ever seen her before, and he instinctively distrusted her a 
little. 

I thank you very much for having invited me, my dear 
fellow, he remarked to his friend Eatibal. One is very 
well treated here, and you certainly have some very charm- 
ing ladies. 

It is only by the merest chance, however, replied the 
old trooper, lowering his voice. Most of the lady-board- 
ers are about a century old. Those to whom you just spoke 
are new-comers, who arrived last night, just in time to dine 
with you. This is not the first time I have seen the lady 
who is dressed in mourning, however. She came here once, 
two or three years ago, but I never saw the younger one 
before. I understand that she is a governess who has come 
to Paris to secure a situation. . 

The count could have undeceived his friend upon this 
point, but he gave no sign, and only replied, carelessly: 

She doesnT look like a school-ma^am. Teachers are 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 


61 


almost always dried-up and imattractive-looking. This 
one is plump and has a charming face. 

You are as susceptible as of yore^ I see. 

'' Not quite; but I still like to see a pretty woman, and I 
have a decided weakness for talking to young girls. They 
do not regard me with distrust. Seeing my gray hairs, they 
tell me all about their love-affairs, and I give them good 
advice, which they seldom, if ever, follow. 

You gave them very bad advice in years gone by, if I 
remember rightly. ‘ When the devil grew old, the devil 
a saint would be. ^ Why don^t you frankly admit that you 
would like to have a chat with that young girl who casts down 
her eyes and blushes whenever one pays her a compliment. 
Each one to his taste. I much prefer the other one— the 
one in mourning.- But never mind, I will arrange it for 
you."" . . . 

This little aside between the two compamons-in-arms had 
been drowned by the clamor of a political discussion be- 
tween a former lieutenant of infantry and warm admirer of 
the new regime, and a retired shop-keeper who had been a 
captain in the National Guard under Louis Philippe. 

Katibal put an end to it by calling out to the worthy 
Mme. Gouverneur from across the table. 

‘‘Most amiable landlady,"" he began, familiarly, “do 
you intend to have coffee served here?"" 

“You know that is the custom of the house, my dear 
captain,"" replied the venerable hostess, rather simperingly, 
for she still pined for conquests. 

“Yes; but for once you will surely reserve your small 
parlor for my friend and myself, and a few of your guests. "" 

As he spoke, he cast a side glance at the new-comers, 
and Mme. Gouverneur, who was by no means obtuse, mo- 
tioned to him that she understood. 

A moment afterward she rose to give the necessary 
orders, but the other guests, excited by the champagne 
that continued to flow freely, scarcely noticed her absence. 

The conversation began again, and everybody took part 
in it except Edmee and her new acquaintance, who were 
only waiting for an opportunity to silently withdraw. 

This opportunity presented itself at the dessert when 
two or three gentlemen requested permission to smoke, 
consideriug that a suitable ending to this festal occasion. 

The ladies dared not object; a few old maids even de- 


62 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


dared that the scent of tobacco was agreeable to them, and 
remained, in spite of the clouds of smoke that soon filled 
the room. 

Edmee and Mme. Bastide rose immediately, however; 
but- the Count de Sigoules dared not follow them, not hav- 
ing found a plausible excuse for quitting company that was 
beginning to bore him. 

‘ ‘ His companion undertook to furnish this excuse, how- 
ever. 

You know there is a garden connected with the estab- 
lishment, old fellow, he remarked, in a loud voice. 

What if we should take a turn there, while waiting for 
our colfee. The atmosphere is stifling here, and I am sure 
that you would enjoy a breath of fresh air.-"^ 

That is true,^'’ replied Sigoules. Young men did not 
smoke in our time. I have learned in order not to be un- 
like every one else, but I canT smoke except in the open 
air.-^^ 

After this interchange of remarks, intended as an ex- 
planation of their departure, they quietly withdrew, leaving 
the other guests to make such comments as they chose. 

In the hall they met Mme. Gouverneur, who said, gra- 
ciously: 

Ooifee will be served in the parlor, gentlemen, and I 
hope that my new guests will decide to keep you company. 
I have invited them. -"^ 

Are they waiting for us there inquired Ratibal. 

ISTo,^^ replied the hostess. They went up to their 
rooms, probably to freshen themselves up a little, but they 
will soon be down, I think. I must return to the table. 
My guests have taken a little too much wine, and if I am 
not there to hold them in check, they will take one another 
by the hair, I fear. 

My dear Sigoules, remarked Eatibal, after the lady 
had passed on, I must warn you that it is never very warm 
in the parlor. Do you feel inclined to wait there until it 
may please the ladies to join us? I must confess that at 
my age I donT find the prospect particularly inviting. 

“ You do.not understand the situation, replied the count, 
quickly. The younger of the two ladies is from my neigh- 
borhood, and I am very anxious to have a conversation 
with her. She is the daughter of one of my tenants, and 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 65^ 

there are matters of grave importance upon which I desire 
to speak to her. 

Very well. I will leave you then^ and if you should not 
retuni to the tahle^ I will explain your absence. You see 
that open door down there. It leads into the parlor in 
question, so you will have no difficulty in finding your way 
there without my assistance. 

The coimt allowed his old friend to depart, and directed 
his steps toward the lighted room Eatibal had just pointed 
out to him. 

Midway down the hall, Edmee suddenly appeared before 
him. 

I waited for you here,^^ she remarked. I felt sure you 
would come alone and — 

My dear child, interrupted M. de Sigoules, I really 
ought to scold you, but I liavenT the heart to do it. I 
had much rather help you out of the scrape into which you 
have gotten yourself, in spite of all I said to you in Salviac. 
This is no place for a private conversation, and I want you 
to come and see me to-morrow at the Hotel du Helder. I 
shall be there all day. In the meantime, will you have the 
kindness to briefly answer one or two questions. Your 
brother is in Paris, and you have seen him, I suppose 

I met him this afternoon for the first time. He is living 
near here, at the house of one of our compatriots. Jacques 
is with him. 

^‘Jacques! That caps the climax! You must all have 
lost your senses. The police are on their track, and if I 
do not interfere, they will soon be arrested. 

Yow, who is that lady who sat by you at the table, and 
who came to Paris wdth you, it seems 

I met her at Bordeaux, and we traveled to Paris to- 
gether. She used to be acquainted with your cousin. Mon- 
sieur de Mussidan. 

Not a very good recommendation. What is her name?^^ 

She calls herself Madame Bastide. She is a widow, 
and I have perfect confidence in her.^^ 

‘‘Ypy well, I will ask Adhemar about her. In the 
meantime, I would advise ypu not to divulge many of your 
secrets to this pretended friend of my scapegrace of 
a cousin. In these times, one encounters spies on every 
hand.^^ 


64 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


Edmee was about to exjiostulate^ but M. de Sigoules said^ 
abruptly: 

That is all I want to ask you this evening. This is 
no place for you. You had much better go back to your 
own room. I will return to the table and take my coffee 
with my friend. Au revoir 


CHAPTER III. 

Pierre Marteau possessed some of the attributes es- 
sential to a good detective; among them being untiring 
industry, courage, and perseverance. But many others, 
which were equally necessaiy, were wanting, especially tact, 
quickness of discernment, and also practice; nor was he 
enough of a Parisian; at least, he was not sufficiently ac- 
quainted with Paris and Parisian life to achieve immediate 
success in his new r6le. 

As the guard of an emperor or king, Pierre Marteau 
would not have had his equal. He would have surpassed 
Eousan, the legendary Mameluke who slept every night at 
Napoleon^s door, and General Plancoet, who knew him 
well, thought strongly of securing him an appointment in 
the private body-guard of the prince-president. 

But this corps was not yet organized, so Marteau was 
obliged to be content with the position of inspector in the 
political brigade, a position in which the duties were not 
very clearly defined. 

The search for Louis Chancelade, M. Santille^s assassin, 
had been intrusted to him as a beginning, probably from 
the fact that he was better acquainted with the fugitive 
than any of the other officers — ^liaving had the culprit under 
his custody in the Salviac prison. 

This special mission suited him all the better from the 
fact that he felt an implacable hatred for his former pris- 
oner. Chancelade^s escape had been the cause of his re- 
moval from office, and he had never yet succeeded in dis- 
covering exactly how this escajic had been accomplished. 
He suspected that it had been favored by some one in the 
house, but by whom? He had at first suspected his wife^s 
pretended cousin, but he had ended by suspecting his wife 
herself. 

The pair had separated after a violent scene on their 


THE PEETTY JAILER* 


G5 


amval in Paris, Aurelie having declared that she could 
endure life with him no longer. The general had ad- 
vised Pierre to let her have her own way, and Marteau 
could not refuse to follow the advice of his powerful pro- 
tector, so it was decided that Aurelie should utilize her 
talent as a musician by giving lessons in singing. 

Perhaps Pierre was less resigned, than he appeared to be; 
perhaps he was even meditating schemes of future revenge, 
but he allowed none, of this to appear, and entered upon 
the discharge of his new duties with ardor. 

Though Mme. Marteau had installed herself in a hand- 
some suite of apartments on the Rue de TArcade, he con- 
tented himself with a modest room in the house they had 
formerly occupied on the Rue Saint Louis en Pile, not far 
from the prefecture of pohce, and though he did not asso- 
ciate much with the other inspectors, he went every day 
to report, though only for forma's sake, for his chief, know- 
ing that he was effectually protected, and that he liad been 
charged with a special mission, allowed him to do about as 
he pleased. 

His early efforts were not attended with much success. 
He lacked experience, and did not know how to secure in- 
formation surely and promptly. His wife, in one of the 
worst of their quarrels, had confessed that the pretended 
Marie Minotte was not a relative, but a certain Coralie 
Bernache who resided in Paris, on the Rue Mogador. 

He had procured Vignory^s address without the slightest 
difficulty. He was established temporarily at the Hotel de 
Bade, on the Boulevard des Italiens, and Marteau had even 
stood on guard several times on the Rue Mogador, in the 
hope that Chancelado would come there. 

These steps, however, would have proved wholly ineffect- 
ual had he not happened to hear Coralie ’s maid talking to 
the concierge about her mistress, upon the door-step, and 
while waiting for an opportunity to accost her, he saw her 
enter the house on the evening of the great masquerade 
ball, with a new domino on her arm, and a large bunch of 
pink heather. 

From this he concluded that her mistiness proposed to 
attend the ball that evening, that the heather must be in- 
tended as a means of recognition; and that she had per- 
haps made an appointment with the fugitive from the Sal- 
viac prison. 


66 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


This conclusion was a very hazardous one^ but it did 
honor to Pierre Marteau^s sagacity, and he lost no time gov- 
erning his actions accordingly. 

The arrest of Chancelade had been his sole ambition 
ever since he entered the police force, and he might reason- 
ably hope to reap all the honor of it, for, to tell the truth, 
no one else had given any attention to the matter. The 
new government had something else to do; besides, the 
authorities were much less anxious to capture M. Santelli^’s 
murderer from the fact that M. Sahtelli had done, by his 
excessive severity, more harm than good to the cause he 
served. 

Indeed, it was due to the fact of this comparative indiffer- 
ence that Chancelade had not yet been recaptured, for if 
the veteran detectives had been set upon his track, he could 
not have escaped them. 

Still, Chancelade had, in the person of the ex-keeper, a 
very dangerous enemy, for Pierre Marteau liad a personal 
interest in the arrest of the fugitive. 

The idea of attending the masquerade ball having lodged 
in his brain, he proceeded to carry it into execution. He 
had never attended one of these balls in his life, but he 
knew that any one could go there masked; so he went 
there as soon as the doors were opened, and walked about 
a long time in vain in a hired domino that hampered his 
movements terribly. 

The lady he was in search of had not yet arrived, and lie 
wandered disconsolately about the corridors without catoli- 
ing a glimpse of the bunch of heather that was to serve 
him as a means of identification. 

He did have the consolation of seeing the Count de Si- 
goules and Adhemar de Mussidan pass by unmasked. He 
hated the latter almost as bitterly as he hated Chancelade; 
but the baron having been regularly pardoned, was secure 
from harm, and though Marteau followed him a few mo- 
ments, it was only to overhear what he was saying. He 
presently saw him enter in company with his uncle, a box 
occupied by General de Plancoet and a lady he did not rec- 
ognize; but soon afterward he met Coralie Bernache, rec- 
ognized her voice, and afterward dogged her steps persist- 
ently. 

But a shoH time elapsed, however, before he saw Coralie 
accost a gentleman in domino, who wore a sprig of heather 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


67 


similar to that pinned upon her own domino, and whose 
height and bearing corresponded with that of Edmee's 
brother. 

He felt sure that he had found his man at last, and he 
would have arrested him then and there, if he had dared; 
but he had been strongly recommended to avoid any open 
scandal. 

It was then that the unfortunate idea of shadowing this 
suspicious couple occurred to him. He thought that 
Chancelade would escort Coralie home, and that he could 
follow them in another carriage; but he reckoned without 
his host, as we have seen. Thanks to Jacques" interfer- 
ence, he lost his clew, for he discovered the next day that 
the pretended detective had made a fool of him. 

No officer by the name of Truffier was known at the 
prefecture, and the driver of coach No. 954, when discov- 
ered after no little difficulty, declared and proved that he 
had taken no passengers from the Opera House on the Rue 
Le Peletier. 

Marteau wasted all the following day in fruitless in- 
quiries. He had gained only one feeble chance more, that 
of meeting the pretended detective whose falsehoods had so 
misled him. This man must be the accomplice, or at least 
the friend of Chancelade, and if Marteau could succeed in 
laying hands upon him, he might compel him to speak. ^ 

Marteau had also satisfied himself that Coralie Bernache 
knew the fugitive"s address that she was in communication 
with him, and that he must turn his attention to her, if he 
wished to reach Chancelade. 

Her adventure at the ball would be sure to put her on 
her guard, however, and she would hardly be guilty of the 
imprudence of meeting Chancelade again, now she knew 
that she was watched. • 

But Marteau said to himself that there might be a way to 
arrange matters with her; in short, knowing her but slight- 
^ ly, he thought her quite capable of delivering up the fugi- 
tive in consideration of a stated sum of money, and so 
great was his animosity against the man whose escape had 
cost him his place that he would cheerfully have paid this 
money out of his own pocket. 

Then, too, Pierre Marteau had many questions to ask 
this pretended Marie Minotte. They had scarcely met 
since the lught of the prisoner"s flighty for she had dq- 


68 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


camped without warning him, so he eagerly sought for 
some pretext for paying her a visit, feeling sure that she 
had not recognized him under his domino at the ball, for 
she could not suspect that he was now connected with the 
police. 

He knew, too, by experience that she was thoughtless 
and garrulous, and felt satisfied that a shrewd man would 
havedittle or no trouble in learning all he desired to know; 
so the second day after the ball Marteau decided to make 
the venture, and after dressing himself with care, and again 
reviewing his plans, he wended his way to the residence of 
Coralie Bernache, wondering if she would consent to see 
him, and if it would not be advisable to present himself 
under an assumed name. 

An unforeseen incident settled these doubts for him. 

It chanced to be one of those clear and bright winter 
days— so rare in the month of February— that entice every 
one out of doors, and just as Pierre turned the corner of 
the Eue Mogadour, he found himself literally face to face 
with Coralie Bernache. 

There being no way to avoid her, it was necessary to 
either stop and enter into conversation, or else take flight. 

That being the case, the ex- jailer assumed an expression 
suited to the occasion, and hfted his hat formally, but Oo- 
ralie cried, laughingly: 

Why, is this you? Good-day, cousin. How have you 
been getting on since I saw you last?"" 

Badly, very badly,"" growled Marteau. 

Yes; I know that they turned you out, but you have 
no reason to be angry with me. It was Vignory who was 
the cause of your misfortunes. Not that he has gained 
much by it. They have kicked him out, too, I hear. "" 

'' He deserved it. He played an outrageous trick upon 
me, and if I ever meet him again I shall certainly tell him 
what I think of him. I"ll show him that an old soldier is 
not going to allow himself to be thus gulled by a young 
popinjay like him. "" 

'^I am satisfied that you could thrash him within an 
inch of his life; still, if I were in your place, I should let 
him alone. He deserves a lesson, but it is not worth your 
while to take the trouble to give it to him. Ho as I do. 

I am not giving myself any more concern about the simple^ 
ton than if I had never known him. "" 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


69 


I Then you have not seen him since his return to Paris?"^ 
I saw him at a distance^, the other night, at the mas- 
I v][uerade ball ; hut I assure you I felt no desire to speak to 
i him. He was as drunk as he could he. 

This remark put Marteau at his ease. As Coralie ad- 
I mitted that she had attended the ball, this was proof posi- 
tive that she had not recognized him in the disguise he had 
assumed for the purpose of playing the spy on her. 

"‘But never mind about Yignory,^'' she added, gayly. 
"" Tell me how my Cousin Aurelie is.-’"' 

“Your cousin!'^ repeated the ex-jailer. “You know 
very well that you are no relative of hers. 

“We were fast friends in our youth, and that is better 
than being relatives. I was very intimate with her when 
she was Mademoiselle de Saint Amour, and in those days 
she had very little idea of marrying you.'''’ 

“ It would have been a very good thing if I had never 
had any idea of it myself,"^ was the brusque response. 

“ And why, my friend? Aurelie is a charming woman. 
She brought you a very handsome dowry, and the general "s 
protection into the bargain. I have heard that you owed 
your position of head-keeper of the prison to her. It is 
true that you have lost a place that suited you perfectly, 
but the Marquis de Plancoet will soon find you a better 
one. 

Pierre saw very plainly that Coralie was making open 
fun of him, but though his heart swelled with rage, he took 
good care not to reveal the fact, for she would have left 
him without ceremony, in which case he would be obliged 
to bid farewell to the information he hoped to extort from 
her. 

“ What are you doing now?^^ continued Coralie, who 
took infinite pleasure in tormenting Chancelade^s persecu- 
tor. 

“ Nothing; and time hangs so heavily on my hands that 
I am glad to meet you and talk with you."" 

“You are very complimentary, I am sure. "" 

“lam not much of a hand at compliments, but I assure 
you that I am really very glad to see you. In fact, I should 
have called on you if I had known where you lived."" 

“You would not have had much trouble in ascertaining 
my address; I am tolerably well known. But as we have 
chanced to meet in the street, you had better accompany 


70 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


me on my walk. I am going to do a little shopping. 
Come with me, and we can chat as we go. 

Pierre hesitated. The proposal did not exactly please 
him ; still this seemed to be an excellent opportunity to ob- 
tain the information he coveted. He was even surprised 
that Ooralie should treat him so cordially, and the oppor- 
tunity she offered him confirmed him in the oj^inion that 
she did not distrust him. 

'' Oh, I understand!'" she continued. You are afraid 
of compromising yourself by acting as my escort. That is 
only natural, as you are a married man. Very well, we will 
say no more about it. I must go. Kemember me to dear 
Aurelie." 

Ho, no," replied Marteau, quickly. Hothing could 
afford me greater pleasure. In what direction are you go- 
ing.^" 

To the boulevards. But you are not obliged to give 
me your arm. You can walk along beside me, and leave 
me w^henever you have had enough of my society. " 

The ex-jailer bowed his acquiescence, but Ooralie did not 
give him time to breathe. 

Well, now that we are friends again," she continued, 

I hope that you will tell me about your wife. We did 
not get on very well at Salviac, and really she was not very 
kind to me before my departure, but I bear her no malice, 
and if she ever has need of me, I shall be charmed to be of 
service to her. " 

She has need of no one," replied the ex- jailer, sidkily. 

I understand. Your protection is sufficient for her. I 
am very much pleased to learn that you are gettmg on so 
harmoniously." 

We are not living together now." 

Indeed!" exclaimed Ooralie, in pretended astonish- 
ment. 

‘ ^ That became impossible after my removal from office. 

I am now in search of employment, and Aurelie has opened 
a singing-school for young ladies." 

An excellent idea, certainly! She could hardly do bet- 
ter than to devote herself to the education of yoiuig girls. 
Still, why don't you confess that there has been a quarrel, 
and that you are not yet reconciled?" 

I was certainly very angry with Aurelie for having had 
a hand in the shameful trick that popinjay of a sub-pre- 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


71 


I feet played upon me. I did not blame you so much, for 
you had thoughtlessly got Vignory into a scrape, and were 
I trying to get him out of it; but my wife should have re- 
' fused point-blank to have anything to do with the scheme, 
j for she knew very well the danger to which she exposed 
! me.'’" 

"'I do not deny it, and yet no harm would have been 
I done if Chancelade had not succeeded in making his es- 
cape."" 

'' Speaking of his escape, no one has ever been able to 
I find out how it was managed; but you know."" 

“I? You certainly must be dreaming. I did not have 
j charge of your prisoners, nor did I feel the shghtest inter- 
est in them. "" 

Aurelie tells a very different story."" 

Indeed! what does she say?"" 

There is no reason why I should conceal it from you. 

I She pretends that you fell in love with Chancelade — "" 

' And what if I did? That is no business of hers."" 

She added that you took advantage of your sojourn in 
the prison to open the door of Chancelade "s cell for him, 
and also one of the windows in our rooms."" 

Aurelie had really said nothing of the kind to her hus- 
band; Marteau merely told falsehood to extort the truth, 
and his ruse proved successful. 

She dared to invent such a falsehood as that!"" ex- 
claimed C or alie, furiously angry. ^^Ah! well, I "11 teach 
her to meddle with my affairs ! I will tell you the truth — I 
will. So much the worse for you if the truth pains you. 
rt was your wife who opened the doors and windows at her 
lover "s request. She could refuse him nothing. "" 

That is absurd. She did not even know Chancelade 
by sight, and he spent only a day in the prison."" 

Who said anything about Chancelade? I did take a 
fancy to the fellow, but I did not even think of such a 
thing as setting him free; besides, I could not have done it 
if I would, for I didn"t know where his cell was. I was re- 
ferring to the Baron de Mussidan, my friend. "" 

I — I — I do not understand you,"" stammered Marteau, 
turning pale. 

‘‘ He had been in the prison two months, and your wife 
had had plenty of time to make his acquaintance. "" 

What do you mean?"" 


72 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


You certainly must be very obtuse. Still, I don^’t see 
why I should be silent when Aurelie has accused me, and 
accused me falsely. You must have been as blind as a bat 
not to see what was going on. Your wife fell desperately 
in love with the baron, and used to frequently visit him in 
his cell.'’^ 

'' It is false! If this story were true, it would have been 
Mussidan that she assisted to escape. 

She did not want to do that, for she felt sure that he 
would be pardoned, and she wished to enjoy his society as 
long as possible. He could have escaped, however, had 
he wished to do so; but he refused, and almost forced your 
wife to release Ohancelade. This may surprise you, but it 
was really the case. I was present. 

You might have prevented his escape. 

By warning you? Not I! I stand by my friends, I 
do; at least, until they betray me. Besides, I was not 
sorry to see a handsome young fellow like Ohancelade get 
out of his scrape; especially as Monsieur de Mussidan was 
by no means anxious to make his escape. He might have 
done so a dozen times if he liked, for he left the prison at 
night whenever he wanted to. 

'' What is that you say?^^ exclaimed Pierre, in the ut- 
most consternation. 

"" The truth, my friend, replied Coralie. Monsieur de 
Mussidan had business to attend to in the city, or in the 
country — I donT know which — and your wife, who was 
anxious to please him, allowed him to go out at night, on 
condition that he would return before daybreak, and I 
must do the handsome baron the justice to say that he aF- . 
wavs kept his word. 

But how did he manage to do it? The prison-gate 
was always closely guarded. 

Yes; but the windows of your apartments were not. 
Aurelie procured a rope-ladder for him, and he could get 
in as easily as he got out. 

^^This is incredible murmured the victimized hus- 
band. 

Ohancelade made use of the same facilities, but he was 
not foolish enough to return and make himself a prisoner. 
It was Monsieur de Mussidan who indicated the means, and 
advised him to make his escape, and the reason was evi- 
dent. Ohancelade was accused of assassinating the com*' 


THE PRETTY JAILER. '^3 

I Hiissioiier^ and his head was by no means secure upon his 
shoulders^ while the baron had only imprisonment to fear; 
I go as soon as he learned that the son of his cousin ^s tenant 
;was in danger of death, he made use of his influence over 
I Aurelie to compel her to allow the young man to make his 
I escape. ^ ^ 

He may have had reasons that you little suspect for 
i this generosity, muttered Pierre. 

‘‘What?^^ 

It was perhaps he who killed Monsieur Santelli. 

I What an idea!^^ exclaimed Coralie, in profound aston- 
ishment. 

I Still it is an idea that would occur to almost any one 
who was acquainted with the facts. Monsieur de Mussidan 
often left the prison, you say. Suppose he went out on 
the night that the fatal shot was fired. The prison is not 
far from the club-house where the commissioner was 
killed. 

‘‘ You forget that Mussidan had no gun in his cell, and 
that he could not have stolen or borrowed one."'^ 

‘'Two days before my departure from Salviac, they 
found an English rifie concealed in the grounds of the club- 
house. 

“ That is strange, but I can not believe that the baron 
was guilty of such a deed. He had no persons.! reason to 
hate the commissioner, and people in his rank in life do 
not stoop to assassination. Besides, when one is guilty of 
murder, one is troubled by remorse, and Adhemar is lead- 
ing a gay life here. He was at the masquerade ball with 
old Sigoules. I saw him there, and he seemed to be en- 
joying himself immensely. 

‘ ‘ That proves nothing. ^ 

‘‘ What if I should tell you that Sigoules introduced him 
to the general who was there, in a private box, with a lady. 
It is true that the general received him rather coldly, but 
the lady gave him a very cordial welcome. 

Marteau gave Coralie a searching look, and instantly di- 
vined her meaning. 

Go on,"" he said, coldly. The lady in question was 
my wife, I suppose."" 

I think so, or, rather, I am sure of it, for I followed 
the count and the baron after they left the box, and over- 
heard a part of their conyersation. I might even tell you, 


74 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


to console you, that the baron does not seem inclined to 
renew his flirtation with Aurelie/^ 

So much the worse!"^ exclaimed Marteau, energetically 
So much the worse repeated Ooralie, in amazement. 

Then the more adorers your wife has, I suppose, the bet- 
ter pleased you are.'’^ 

‘‘ She has gone so far now that I donT care what she 
does. But I am her husband, and if I could prove her 
guilty of a liaison with that man, it would afford me in- 
finite pleasure to kill him, as I should have a right to do, 
even in the eyes of the law./^ 

That is not a bad idea, but I donT believe that you will 
have that satisfaction. Aurehe is as prudent as a serpent, 
and she will run no such risk. If I were in your place, 
I should seek a different mode of revenge. I should try to 
prove that this nobleman had the murder of the general 
commissioner upon his conscience, and the law would 
quietly put him out of the way for you. 

Marteau started. Coralie had guessed what was passing 
in his mind, hut he did not want to admit it. 

Arresting criminals is not my business,'’^ he retorted, 
quickly, and I am glad of it, for I should probably be no 
more successful at that than at guarding them. I have 
had enough of serving a government that dismisses a faith- 
ful servant instead of rewarding hina, and if I should hap- 
pen to meet Chancelade this very day I assure you, upon 
my word of honor, that I would not even call a policeman 
to arrest him. 

You old scoundrel thought Ooralie. You consider 
yourself very shrewd, but I am shrewder than you are, and 
I am going to have a little fun at your expense. 

Then she said aloud: 

‘‘1 can veiy readily understand your disgust, and to 
prove that I hear you no ill-will, I promise you that I will 
try to procure you a better situation. 1 haven T as much 
influence as the general, of course, but I have a friend who 
might be of service to you. Would you accept a situation 
in a foreign country — in Eussia, for example 

No, certainly not,^^ promptly replied the ex- jailer, 
though nothing on earth could have induced him to leave 
France until after he had been avenged upon his two Salviac 
prisoners. 

Then I will see what I can do for you. A particular 


f 


I THE PRETTY JAILER. 75 

friend of mine. Prince Lonnine, has immense estates near 
I Moscow, and I will ask him to offer you a position as man- 
lager or steward. 

His offer would not he refused, I assure you. 

I He has just returned to Paris very unexpectedly, at a 
time when I was least expecting him, and he made an ap- 
pointment with me to meet him at the hall. I went, met 
' him there, and found he had become so jealous of me that 
I had all I could do to prevent him from making a scene. 

, But the strangest thing about it all was that we were fol- 
I lowed all the time we were there. 

Impossible!'’^ 

Yes, we were; a masked man^ wearing a domino, fol- 
lowed us until we left the ball-room, though we could not 
imagine why. He did not leave us until we reached the 
outer door, and I believe he would have followed us even 
further, if we had not taken a carriage. But we finally 
succeeded in getting rid of the idiot, and finished the even- 
ing very pleasantly with a supper at the Cafe Anglais. 
How, you will hardly believe it, perhaps, but I fancied I 
was watched on account of what occurred at Salviac. The 
police are so stupid that they may think I am on intimate 
terms with Chancelade, but they are very much mistaken. 
Ohancelade is a handsome fellow, but I donT fancy rustics, 
and I have no intention of ruining my prospects for the 
sake of a poor country school-master. Moreover, they can 
search for him as much as they please, hut ’they wonT find 
him. I heard the old count tell Monsieur de Mussidan at 
the ball that Chancelade had arrived in Hew York, and 
that his sister was going to join him there. But I doiiT 
know why I am rattling on about matters that do not in- 
terest you,^^ said Coralie, checking herself suddenly. 

Here we are on the boulevard, and I have business at 
that jewelry-store you see over there, so I will excuse you 
from further attendance upon me. We part good friends, 
do we not?^'’ 

Most assuredly. You will permit me to call and see 
you, I hope?'’'’ 

Yes, certainly, whenever you like. You. know my ad- 
dress. 

Ho,^'’ replied Marteau, unhlushingly. 

I live at Ho. 19 Kue Mogador. You can ask for Ma- 
demoiselle Bernache. You will always find me at home in 


76 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


the afternoon^ and I shall embrace the first opportunity to 
introduce you to the prince. '''' 

You are very kind; but one question more, I beg.^^ 

Go on. 

Do you know where Monsieur de Mussidan is staying 
I presume that he is staying at the same hotel as his 
noble relative. Monsieur de Sigoules. But as for telling 
you where this hotel is, that is an impossibility, as I do not 
know, but I will make inquiries, if you wish.^"* 

You would do me a great favor. 

“ I have a friend who is well acquainted with Mussidan, 
and I can probably obtain the information from her. But 
once more let me counsel you to create no scandal. You 
would gain nothing by it. 

With this sage remark, Corahe offered the tips of her 
fingers to the ex- jailer, tripped lightly across the street, 
and directed her steps toward the Madeleine. 

She was delighted with the result of her interview with 
Louis Chancelade^s enemy, for she flattered herself that she 
had thrown him entirely off the track, and congratulated 
herself upon her diplomatic talent. 

Ynu can come; if you choose, simpleton she said to 
herself. You will not find Louis there, and if you trouble 
Mussidan, he will teach you a lesson. 

Pierre Marteau was not in an enviable mood by any 
means, as he strolled down the boulevard in the opposite 
direction to that Coralie had taken. 

He was a singular person. 

There is a great deal said about the human heart in books, 
and writers pretend to analyze the sentiments that move 
them as if all hearts were alike. 

Pierre still loved his wife after his fashion, and though 
he had consented to the separation she insisted upon after 
their return from Salviac, he had not renounced her, and 
fully expected to live Avith her again as soon as circum- 
stances Avould permit. 

He was jealous of her, too, deeply and violently jealous 
— ^jealous enough to kill any man who might dare to wrong 
him, and he had only spoken the simple truth in declaring 
that he would thus avenge himself. 

Mile. Bernache had just inflicted a grievous wound upon 
him, for his pride as a husband as well as a jailer had been 
deeply hurt, for he could not doubt that this young lady 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


77 


had told him the truth in regard to Louis Chancelade^s 
mysterious escape. 

He recollected now facts which had escaped his notice at 
the time — ^facts which proved that his wife and his prisoner 
had deceived him shamefully for two months, under his 
very eyes. 

This was enough, and more than enough, to change the 
dislike he had always felt for the baron into positive hatred 
— one of those fierce hatreds that never die out. 

He had known the truth but five minutes, and yet he 
had already condemned Adliemar de Mussidan to death. 
His resolve to kill him was irrevocable; he was undecided 
only in regard to his mode of accomplishing it. 

The more he reflected, the more convinced he became 
that Mussidan was the murderer of the commissioner. 

The authorities had not even thought of accusing him, 
for it had seemed utterly impossible that he could be the 
culprit — the mere fact of his being in prison constituting a 
conclusive alibi. But as soon as it was established that the 
baron had left the prison that night, this apparent proof 
amounted to nothing. It was necessary to prove this fact, 
however; and in order to prove it a confession must be ex- 
torted from Aurelie, who had allowed him to leave the 
prison. This was a difficult, but by no means impossible, 
task; for if the baron should now turn a deaf ear to that 
lady^s blandishments, as Coralie predicted, Aurelie would 
never forgive him for his disdain. 

It remained to be seen, however, whether she would carry 
her resentment so far as to be willing to reveal the secret 
of these nocturnal excursions on the part of the baron at 
the risk of exposing him to such a charge. 

Marteau now bitterly regretted that he had not discov- 
ered the truth before leaving Salviac. Had he known it, 
with what delight he would have transferred his animosity 
from Chancelade to Mussidan ! What zeal he would have 
displayed in discovering the owner of the English rifle so 
providentially found in the garden of the club-house. And 
he would have succeeded, at least he flattered himself that 
he would. There was still time to institute a search, but in 
Paris the ^investigation presented well-nigh insurmountable 
difficulties. 

Ho matter! He was firmly resolved to undertake this 
investigation, which might result in sending a man he now 


78 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


hated a hundred times worse than Louis Chancelade before 
the Court of Assizes. 

ChanceMe had never mocked him and deceived him; he 
was not Pierre Marteau^s personal enemy, nor would he 
have attempted to escape, had not Mussidan compelled 
Aurelie to facilitate his flight. 

The care, too, that the baron had taken to insure the 
escape of a man he scarcely knew, was very much against 
him. Mussidan, who, like all men of his stamp, prided 
himself upon his generosity, could not endure the thought 
that an innocent man should be charged with a crime which 
he himself had committed, baron though he was. 

He had not carried his generosity so far as to acknowl- 
edge that he was the real culprit, but he had remained in 
prison so the innocent man could escape in his stead. He 
had remained, too, possibly because if he took advantage 
of the opportunity for flight, the prison officials could hard- 
ly fail to discover that this was not the flrst time he had 
profited by Aurelie ^s kindness, and so begin to suspect him 
of having killed the commissioner. 

Consequently, the assassin, the cowardly assassin the 
public could not excuse as it excused the participants in 
the December rebellion, was Adhemar de Mussidan, . the 
handsome Adhemar, the courtly nobleman, who fascinated 
all the ladies by his resemblance to a hero of romance. 

Thus Pierre reasoned, and he ti’embled with joy at the 
thought of the completeness of his anticipated revenge, but 
a thought that suddenly presented itself marred his satis- 
faction. 

He asked himself if he might not seriously compromise 
Mme. Marteau by denouncing M. de Mussidan, and if the 
authorities would not believe that Mussidan had told her 
his object in leaving the prison on that particular night. 
In such a case, there would be little or no difference be- 
tween a confidante Midi an accomplice; audit would be hard 
to convince any one that the baron had not made her his 
confidante in the matter. 

Now, the ex-jailer longed for revenge, but he did not 
want to lose his wife; and it would be impossible to secure 
an order for Adhemar^’s arrest without disclosing what had 
occurred at the prison while Adhemar was there. 

Pierre Marteau, more perplexed than ever, said all this 
over and over again to himself, as he walked slowly down 


THE PEETTY JAILEK. 


79 


the Boulevard des Italiens^ and he had reached Tortoni's 
when he suddenly perceived upon the steps of that famous 
establishment the man who had engrossed his thoughts ever 
since his interview with Ooralie Bernache. 

The handsome Adhemar was munching a tooth-pick 
with all the apparent lightheartedness of a young man of 
fashion who has just dined well, and who has no troubles, 
much less any remorse. 

Pierre '’s blood gave a sudden bound, and, had he obeyed 
his first impulse, he would have sprung at the throat of this 
hated rival. But he knew how to control himself, and, 
instead of giving way to useless passion, he turned into the 
Eue Tailhout, and paused there, firmly resolved to follow 
Adhemar until he learned where he was sta 3 dng. 

This seemed likely to prove a comparatively easy matter, 
as Adhemar had not seen him. 

A moment afterward, the all-conquering baron appeared 
at the street corner, crossed without glancing at his enemy, 
and continued his promenade with the slow and tranquil 
step of a gentleman of leisure who intends to stroll about a 
little before returning home. 

Marteau allowed the baron to get a little in advance of 
him, and then began to follow him at a distance. 

Adhemar, who had not the slightest suspicion that he 
was being followed, never once turned to look behind him. 

On reaching the intersection of the Rue Tailbout and the 
Rue du Helder, he hesitated an instant. He was trying to 
make up his mind whether he should go to see his old 
friend, Clara Lasource, who lived on the Rue Saint-Lazare, 
or whether he should go and inquire for his uncle Sig- 
oules, whom he had not seen that morning, and after a lit- 
tle reflection he decided on the latter course. 

Marteau saw him enter the Hotel du Helder, but wishing 
to satisfy himself that this was really the baron^s domicile, 
he boldly crossed the porte-cochere, after allowing Mussidan 
time to go up to his room, and asked the porter for M. de 
Mussidan. 

‘^He just came in,^^ replied that functionary, and if 
he is not in his own room, he must be in the apartments of 
the Count de Sigoules, on the second floor, ISTo. 15. 

This was all Marteau wished to know, and he was on the 
point of goiiig away when he saw Edmee Chancelade ap- 
proaching the porter's lodge. He immediately turned 


80 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


round, back to her, and pretended to be looking in his 
pocket-book for a card, so he might reasonably flatter him- 
self that she had not noticed him. 

This meeting was a piece of extraordinary good luck for 
him, for he had not abandoned all idea of recapturing 
Ohancelade, and now he had found the sister, he would only 
have to keep her in sight to reach the brother, for he did 
not doubt that they had been living together since their 
arrival in Paris. 

This was a new clew that must be followed immediately, 
and it was no longer necessary for him to dog Mussidan^'s 
footsteps, as he now knew exactly where to And him when 
he wanted him. 

So he forthwith proceeded to ensconce himself in the 
narrow passage-way of a building opposite the hotel, and 
there he waited with his coat-collar turned up about his 
ears, and his hat pulled down over his eyes. 

He did not have to wait long, but it was not Edmee who 
came out of the hotel. 

He had been . there scarcely five minutes when he saw 
Adhemar de Mussidan appear in the door-way of the hotel. 

^^What! he is going out again already!^'’ muttered 
Marteau. So much the better. I donT want anything 
more of him now, and he wonT be on hand to prevent me 
from following Chancelade^s sister. 

But Adhemar, instead of stepping down into the street, 
remained in the open door-way, glancing up and down the 
street, like a man who wishes to satisfy himself that the 
coast is clear. 

That is strange thought Marteau. One Avould 
suppose that he was afraid of being watched. Then, too, 
how does it happen that he is going out again so soon? He 
has just returned. He can not have found his cousin at 
home. But he must have met that Salviac girl on the 
stairway. Heaven grant that she did not recognize me 
and tell Mussidan 

Marteau endeavored to reassure himself, but soon it 
seemed to him that the baron ■'s eyes were fixed persistently 
upon his hiding-place, and he hastily drew back. 

This was a useless precaution, for Adhemar crossed the 
street with a decided step, walked straight toward the pas- 
sage-way, entered it, and called out: 

Monsieur Marteau 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


81 


The ex- jailer did not reply. For one instant he felt 
strongly inclined to take to his heels, but he knew that 
Mussidan would follow him, so he only drew further back 
linto the shadow, and remained silent. 

DonT be childish. Monsieur Marteau,^^ said the scorn- 
ful voice of the baron, I know you are there. Why are 
you playing hide-and-seek? Come out here. I want to 
speak to ‘you. 

Unable to make his escape, there was nothing left for 
the ex-jailer but to show himself. Besides, the anger that 
was beginning to surge up in his heart impelled him to 
confront his enemy. 

‘‘ Here I am!^^ he said, sullenly. What do you want 
withme?^" 

As he spoke, he planted himself a couple of feet in front 
of Adhemar, and looked him insolently in the face. 

So you consent to show yourself at last, Adhemar 
3*esponded with unruffled calmness; but that is not 
(mough. This is a very poor place for a conversation, as 
we are liable to be interrupted at any moment. Will you 
have the goodness to step outside? We can talk much bet- 
ter in the street. 

So be it! replied Pierre. 

When they both reached the pav-ement, Mussidan said to 
him quietly, lookmg him full in the face : 

By what right do you attempt to act the spy on me? 
You are not a jailer now, nor am I any longer under your 
charge. 

What makes you think that I am watching you?^^ 
retorted Marteau. 

You are not going to pretend that you are here merely 
by chance, I suppose ?^^ 

I am not responsible to you for my actions. 

Pardon me, you have followed me, and you just 
made some inquiries in regard to me of the hotel porter. 

I should like to know why, if you please. Oh! youneednT 
attempt to deny it. Some one saw you. 

“ It was Chancelade^s sister who gave you the informa- 
tion, wasnT it?^^ 

You recognized her, it seems. 

“ Perfectly. 

And you were waiting to see where she would go on 


82 


THE PEETTY JAILEK. 


leaving the hotel. Save yourself the trouble of following 
her. Her brother is safe on the other side of the Atlantic. 

What possible object can you have in telling me that? 
Chancelade was once in my custody, it is true; but I am a 
jailer no longer. 

'No; you are a detective. Don'^t contradict me. I 
learned the fact through my relative, Monsieur de Sigoules, 
who is well acquainted with General Plancoet, the patron 
who secured you this honorable position. 

''Even if what, you say is true, what of it?^^ asked 
Pierre, angrily. 

" Nothing, except that I forbid you — do you under- 
stand? — I forbid you to follow Mademoiselle Chancelade. 
If you follow me, I will soon give you enough of it; but 
she is a woman, and she can not get rid of you. But I 
will rid her of you myself, if you dare to attempt it.^^ 

" In what way, pray?^^ 

" By thrashing you within an inch of your life. 

Pierre turned frightfully pale, and several seconds passed 
before he could control his anger sufficiently to reply. 

" Sir,'’^ he said, at last in a voice husky with passion, 
" you have just uttered words that will cost you dear. I 
served my time honorably in the army, and whatever my 
present position may be, you owe me satisfaction, for the 
absurd threat you just made is, in itself, a grave insult. 

" Less grave than the execution of it will be, and I shall 
not shrink from that if you persist in playing the spy upon 
this young girl. You may have been a soldier, but you 
are now a policeman, and no one condescends to fight a 
duel with a policeman. Still, I hate you so heartily that I 
would really do you the honor to accept you as an adver- 
sary if I were sure that you would let Mademoiselle 
Chancelade alone afterward. Unfortimately I can not take 
your word for that. 

" I, too, hate you,^^ said Marteau, sullenly; " and it was 
not necessary for you to insult me to arouse a thirst for 
your blood in my heart. 

" Indeed sneered the baron. " And why do you hate 
me so intensely? I should really like to know. 

" I should suppose that you might suspect, rephed the 
ex- jailer, unable to control himself any longer. 

" On the contrary, I haven't the slightest idea/' was the 
cool rejoinder.' 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


83 


You have forgotten what passed between my wife and 
yourself very quickly. 

I do not understand you/^ replied Adhemar, perfectly 
Unmoved. 

Yes, you pride yourself upon being a gentleman/'’ re- 
plied Aurelie's husband, bitterly, and men of your stamp 
believe that they have a right to lie in order to save a wom- 
an. But your insolent denials will avail nothing. I kiiow 
all, and you will not dare to pretend that an honorable man 
can refuse an outraged husband satisfaction. 

Upon my word, sir, I had no idea you were so sensi- 
tive,^'’ responded the baron, carelessly. 

‘‘A truce to this insolence. And do not persist in your 
denials. I have proofs.'’^ 

Proofs! this is the first time I ever heard a husband 
who pretended to have been so grievously wronged talk like 
a judge of instruction. As you please, sir, but I only beg 
you to take notice that I admit notliing. 

And you are right. If you should admit that my wife 
visited you in your cell, you would also be obliged to admit 
that she assisted you to leave the prison at night, and to 
return to it before daybreak. And such a confession on 
your part would be highly significant. 

Adhemar had not anticipated this direct thrust, and he 
remained silent a moment; but he quickly recovered him- 
self and, instead of retorting by a denial, he said in a most 
impertinent tone: 

Was it Madame Marteau who gave you this interesting 
information?^^ • 

Think what you like. 

^^If it was not she, it must certainly have been her 
cousin. 

You know perfectly well that the person referred to is* 
not in the least related to my wife. But it makes no differ- 
ence whatever whether I learned this though her or discov- 
ered it myself. The facts are the same, and I trust you 
will not refuse me the satisfaction I demand. 

‘"I do not absolutely refuse,'’^ replied Adhemar, who 
was beginning to view the situation in a different light, 
“ but the deuce take me, if I expected such a proposal 
from you. You surprise me very much.'’^ 

Yes; you took me for a peaceable, inoffensive man, who 
could be deceived and insulted with impunity. I am not a 


84 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


gentleman, but I have been a soldier, and I will show yon 
that I know how to wield a sword. 

This was no idle boasting, Pierre Marteau had acted 
as fencing-master in the regiment, and he felt perfectly 
sure of his ability to kill the handsome Adhemar. In fact, 
this certainty on his part was the principal cause of this 
sudden change in his plans. 

Marteau would have preferred to denounce his enemy as 
the assassin of the commissioner, and to deliver him up to 
justice; but he lacked proofs, besides, he was restrained 
by a fear of compromising Aurelie; consequently, it 
would be better to end the matter by a duel in which he 
would have every advantage. 

The baron, on the other hand, felt that if his nocturnal 
excursions should become known to the judge of instruction, 
he would be placed in a very unenviable position, certainly 
one in which he would find it difficult to defend himself 
against a capital charge. The magistrates of Salviac must 
be greatly prejudiced against him, especially the prosecut - 
ing attorney whom Vignory had so severely snubbed in the 
presence of M. de Sigoules, at the club; and the ex-keeper, 
if his challenge was not accepted, would be sure to report 
the facts to the authorities. 

Adhemar said to himself that, after all, this jailer had a 
right to demand satisfaction, that he had worn the stripes 
of a non-commissioned officer, and that this was one of the 
cases in which an honorable man could and should fight 
with no matter whom. 

Besides, Adhemar was a capital swordsman, and flattered 
himself that a well-directed thrust would forever rid 
Edmee, Louis Chancelade, Aurelie and himself of Marteau. 

‘‘ Very well,^^ said he, as you so urgently insist upon it, 
I will consent — ^provided that the duel shall be a real one, 
and that it shall end the matter. 

‘‘You need have no fears that it will be anything else,^^ 
replied Pierre. “ There will be no necessity to begin over 
again, for we will fight until one of us falls dead.^'’ 

“ If our seconds will allow me to do so,'’^ replied Adhe- 
mar, ironically. 

“ But we must first find these seconds. 

“ I will promise to find mine, and I accept yours in 
advance/'' replied Pierre Marteau. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. '85 

I can not say as much to you. You will probably select 
two of your brother-detectives. 

Your jest is unseemly. You know very well that I 
shall choose former comrades. 

Who are ignorant of the vocation you are now follow- 
ing. If you can find two of them^, I shall make no objec- 
tion. But what reason shall you give for this dueb for I sup- 
pose you will not drag Madame Marteau^s name into the 
affair. 

I shall give the first pretext that comes into my head. 
Besides, my friends will ask no explanation. . Where can 
they find you?^^ 

‘‘At the Hotel du Helder, where I am staying with Mon- 
sieur de Sigoules, who will probably serve as one of my 
seconds. ‘ 

' “ Very well, sir. You will hear from me to-morrow. 

“ I shall expect to, and I trust that you will for this once 
abandon your intended surveillance. Mademoiselle will 
soon come out. I hope she will not find you standing guard 
in front of the hotel. 

“ I promise to pay no further attention to her; in fact, 
I am going to leave immediately. Au revoir. sir.'’^ 

As he spoke, he turned and walked rapidly toward the 
boulevard, after exchanging a tolerably courteous bow with 
his future adversary. Nor had he any idea of returning to 
his luding-place, for he felt sure that M. de Mussidan 
would warn Chancelade^s sister, and perhaps even act as 
her escort, when she left the hotel. 

Adhemar immediately recrossed the street, for he was 
anxious to see Edmee again. She had overtaken him as he 
was ascending the staircase of the hotel, and had told him 
that the former keeper of the Salviac prison was talking 
with the porter. She had then hastened on to M. de Sig- 
oules^ rooms, and Adhemar had rushed down-stairs to put 
an end to Marteau^s espionage. 

He must now announce the result of this expedition to 
those interested in it, but he intended to say nothing about 
the proposed hostile meeting with the common enemy. 

Adhemar had not seen M. de Sigoules for twenty-four 
hours, and was consequently ignorant that his relative had 
miraculously discovered Edmee in a boarding-house at 
Montmartre, so he was very naturally astonished to find 


86 


ME 1>11ETTY JAILER. 


her paying the count a visit on the Eue du Helder when he 
supposed her safe in Salviac. 

This was still another reason for making immediate in- 
quiries in regard to the whole Ohancelade family, which he 
had nearly forgotten since his release from prison. 

So he hastened up to the count ^s room, where he found 
that gentleman engaged in a very animated conversation 
with the young girl. They were not quarreling, but they 
certainly were not of the same mind, for the count had 
raised his voice to a much higher key than he was accus- 
tomed to use when conversing with a lady. 

Edmee was talking in more subdued tones, but she was 
evidently deeply in earnest, for her cheeks were flushed, 
and her eyes sparkled with excitement. 

Your, coming is very opportune, exclaimed M. de 
Sigoules, on beholding his young cousin. You will help 
me in my attempts to make this headstrong girl listen to* 
reason. Would you believe it? she wants to marry Jacques 
— you know Jacques, my former game-keeper?^^ 

know him,^^ replied Adhemar. ^^He is a brave 
companion who would make an excellent soldier. 

Very true, but to marry him!^^ 

He risked his life to save my brother, said Edmee, 
firmly. 

And he is here in Paris with her brother, interrupted 
the count. They are both hiding somewhere in Mont- 
martre, and mademoiselle here sees them. This, when 
all the police are on their track, is folly, and worse than 
folly, you must admit. 

‘^Very generous folly, I think, corrected Mussidan. 

As for the detectives, mademoiselle knows that they are 
watching her, for she just informed me that the former 
keeper of the Salviac prison was below; but I have had a 
conversation with him, and I think that he will giye none 
of us any further trouble. 

What! you have had a conversation with that scoun- 
drel?^^ 

I was obliged to speak to him in order to send him 
aAvay. I will tell you presently what I said to him, and I 
feel sure that you will approve it. Will you, mademoiselle, 
permit me to ask you how you expect to extricate your 
brother and his friend Jacques from the dangerous position 
in which they have placed themselves by coming to Paris ?'’^ 


THE . PRETTY JAILER. 


87 


We only need passports to enable us to leave France, 
and some one has promised to procure them for me. 

Oh, yes,^^ said M. de Sigoules, ironically, that widow 
who scraped acquaintance with you in the Bordeaux dili- 

f ence, I sujDpose. If you wait until she gets them for you, 
predict that you will wait a long time. And, speakmg 
of this very obliging person, it would be well for you to 
know that she pretends to be acquainted with you, my dear 
Adhemar. 

With me? And where did she make my acquaintance, 
prav?^^ 

At Bordeaux, probably, as she came from there. ^ 
Then the acquaintance must date from a remote period, 
for I have not visited Bordeaux for seven or eight years. 
What is her name?^^ 

She calls herself Madame Bastide. That is to say, 
Bastide is her maiden name,^^ replied Edmee. 

‘^Jeanne Bastide exclaimed the baron. The 
daughter of a sea-captain?^^ 

Who died upon one of his voyages? Yes. She had 
no parent but her mother when she married. 

Did she tell you the name of the man she married?^^ 
inquired Mussidan, with singular eagerness. 

No, sir. She only told me that this man, after 
shamefully deceiving her, had made her life unspeakably 
wretched.'’^ 

Does she know that the scoundrel is dead?^^ 

She does. She wears mourning for him. 

She might have dispensed with that, I think. Did 
she tell you the manner of his death ?^'^ 

‘‘ No. It seems that he was in the employ of the govern- 
ment, and that being the case, she thought she had a riglit 
to a pension, and so came to Paris to claim it. Her peti- 
tion has been refused, however. 

Does she need it? She had quite a comfortable little 
fortune in former years. 

Her husband obtained possession of it, and she is now 
left entirely without resources. She has barely enough to 
pay her passage to America, whither she is going with us. 
That is to say, with you, your brother, and Jacques?^^ 
‘‘ Yes; and she hopes to procure passports for us all by 
pretending that we are relatives of hers. ^ 

Then you intend to sail under assumed names ex- 


88 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


claimed M. de Sigoules. Do you suppose that you will 
uot be called upon to prove your identity? Your plan is 
absurd. 

This is our only hope/^ murmured the young girl. 

“Pardon me, mademoiselle/'’ interrupted the baron, 
“ but has this lady met your brother?'’'’ 

“ She saw him yesterday for the first time. I was with 
her when she met him. I had been looking for him all the 
morning in vain, but chance led him to the summit of 
Montmartre, just as we were descending from it.'’" 

“ And you introduced them to each other?'’" 

“ I could not do otherwise, nor do I regret having done 
so, for Louis took a great fancy to her, and I think she 
was much pleased with him. "" 

“ Another marriage in prospect!"" growled the count. 

“ Louis Chancelade might do much worse,"" replied 
Adhemar. 

“ So what she said is true. You must know her, as you 
have such a good opinion of her."" 

“ I know her well enough to be able to assure you that 
she is a charming woman who deserves the warmest sym- 
pathy. "" 

“ What enthusiasm you display! A little more, and you 
will be ready to enroll yourself in the ranks of her admir- 
ers. "" 

“ That is an impossibility so far as I am concerned,"" re- 
plied the baron, quickly. “ I must even beg Mademoiselle 
Edmee not to tell her friend that she has seen me. "" 

“ And yet you advocate her marriage to Louis Chancel- 
ade ! I confess that I fail to understand you. "" 

“ It is not necessary that you should understand me, my 
dear cousin. "" 

Then, turnuig to the young girl, Adhemar continued: 

“ Did you say that this lady knows your brother "s un- 
fortunate position?"" - 

“ She knows that the police are in pursuit of him, and 
that he will be obliged to remain in concealment until he 
can leave Prance."" 

“ But does she know the crime of which he is accused?"" 

“ No; she thinks that he was first arrested on account of 
participation in the rebellion of last December. "" 

“Ah! well, promise me never to tell her that he is ac- 
cused of the murder of Monsieur Santelli/" 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


89 


Had I felt any inclination to tell her, I should have 
done so before how. But the secret belongs to my brother. 
He alone has a right to reveal it to any one. 

Advise your brother to keep it to himself, at least 
until his innocence is established — as it certainly will be 
sooner or later. 

How do you know?^'’ asked M. de Sigoules, brusquely. 

‘‘ I shall make it my business to prove it, if necessary; 
but it is more than probable that I shall not be obliged to 
interfere, for I am about to rid him of his most dangerous 
enemy, I hope — this same Pierre Marteau, whom I just dis- 
missed in such a way that I think he will feel little desire to 
return. 

Don^t lay that flattering unction to your soul, Adhe- 
mar. And you, my dear Edmee, must exercise redoubled 
prudence. This spy has but one aim in life now — ^that is 
to capture his former prisoner, and he will continue to 
watch you, whatever that optimist, Adhemar, may say to 
the contrary. So, abstain from seeing your brother any 
more at present, if you wish him to escape Monsieur Mar- 
teau'^s clutches. As regards your new friend, I agree with 
my cousin here. Do not reveal too many of your secrets 
to her. I myself am going* to see what I can do for you. 
I shall speak to the general about Louis Chancelade, and 
through his influence I hope to induce the authorities to 
abandon their pursuit, or at least to shut their eyes to your 
brother's departure for a foreign land.^^ 

DonT forget Jacques, cousin,'’^ said Adhemar, smiling 
at Edmee. 

^‘Jacques is not concerned in the matter rejDlied M. 
de Sigoules, rather sulkily. He has laid himself liable 
to a few months^ imprisonment for poaching, but he can 
get out of that scrape without any -assistance from me.^'’ 

And now,^^ he added, turning to the young girl, you 
had better return home. I am going to order a carriage, 
for I do not want you to return on foot. You might be 
followed. 


CHAPTEK IV. 

Lucieh Doradour, Louis Chancelade^s compatriot and 
friend, was a worthy man, who, after starting out in life 
with a peddlery’s pack, had, by industry and economy, finally 
succeeded in acquiring a modest competence. 


90 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


- He was not a peddler now^, but a dealer in second-hand 
clothing, rags, old iron, and even bric-a-brac. He bought 
and sold everything, keeping his merchandise in a shop he 
rented in Olignancourt; but he ran about Paris all day, 
and seldom returned until late in the evening to the little 
house where he had lived alone prior to the arrival of the 
Perigord friends to whom he had granted a shelter. 

Lucien Doradour had never married, possibly because he 
had not had time. 

He had known Ohancelade from his infancy, and though 
he had bidden farewell to Salviac forever, he wrote from 
time to time to his old school-mate, who answered regularly. 

On receiving the letter Louis had addressed to him, 
craving his hospitality, he did not hesitate to place his house 
at the disposal of the two fugitives, though he had never 
seen Jacques in his life. 

They lived very comfortably there, without interfering 
with one another in the least. Doradour took his meals 
away from home, sometimes in one place, sometimes in 
another; and Ohancelade and Jacques got on very well 
without a cook, accustomed as they had long been to wait 
upon themselves. Jacques purchased their provisions, and 
Louis assisted him in the preparation of the few simple 
dishes that sufficed them, for neither of them were epi- 
cures. They retired to rest with the chickens, and saw 
their friend Doradour only in the morning, before he start- 
ed out on his daily round; indeed, the neighbors seemed to 
be scarcely aware of their existence, so quiet and retired 
was their life. 

It is true that they lived at the end of a sort of lane 
upon which there were only three or four houses, and in 
which there was little nr no passing. This lane has since 
received the name of the Passage de PElysee des Beaux 
Arts, though why, it is bard to explain, as no artists or 
pleasant promenaders are to be found there. 

Doradour^s house, however, had a garden about as large 
as a modest drawing-room, and very badly kept, the owner 
having neither the leisure nor the wish to cultivate flowers. 
The entrance into it was by means of an iron gate which 
had been purchased very cheap at auction, but which, 
nevertheless, gave the shabby house some pretensions to 
elegance; but this gate was not often opened, for Doradour 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 91 

was rarely at home^ and when he was^ he had little or no 
company. 

In the early days of their sojourn^ the refugees went out 
only to make a few necessary purchases or to get a breath 
of fresh air on the toji of the hill. They were expecting a 
letter from Edmee — a letter that did not come, however, 
and without Edmee ^s assistance they could not escape from 
a position that seemed to he much more wearisome than 
dangerous. 

They finally became tired of this inactivity, and it was 
then, and not until then, that Chancelade sent Jacques to 
the house of the Mile. Bernache who had evmced such an 
interest in him; and the visit to the masquerade ball, which 
for awhile seemed likely to cost them dear, was the result 
of this call. 

The unexpected meeting with Edmee on the following 
day had abmidantly consoled Louis for that mishap. Edmee 
found once more! Edmee ready to accompany them to 
America! Tliis was greater happiness than he had dared to 
hope for. 

And as blessings, like misfortunes, never seem to come 
singly, Edmee had introduced him to a lady who made a 
deep impression upon him. 

The romantic side of the adventure had its influence, of 
course. Mme. Bastide had fallen into his arms just as he 
was endeavoring to walk off his anxiety and discontent on 
the rather unpoetical hill-side of Montmartre, and it seemed 
to him that there was something providential about this 
strange meeting, and that his destiny must be linked with 
that of Mme. Bastide from that moment. 

Chancelade had always been an imaginative and rather 
susceptible person, and the persecution to which he had 
been subjected for more than a month had only increased 
this natural tendency, of his character to exaggerate the 
significance of trivial events, and after his sister gave him 
a brief history of her new friend^s life, he felt even more 
deeply interested in the charming widow. She, too, was 
unhappy; she, too, thought of leaving her native land. 
Why should they not share each other ^s grief, and endeavor 
to make each other happy? 

Edmee did not have time to tell him very much about 
Mme. Bastide, and she had not seen Louis since their first 
meeting; consequently, she had no means of knowing what 


92 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


her brother thought of the lady, but she must have guessed, 
and Ohancelade felt almost certain that she thought as he 
did, for they generally agreed in their opinions of people. 
Still, he wished to consult her, and he would have gone to 
the spot appointed for their meeting the very next day, had 
not J acques begged to be allowed to see Edmee. Ohancelade 
could, of course, have accompanied him, but he felt that 
after such a long separation, the lovers would prefer to be 
alone. 

So, on the very same day and hour that the Baron de 
Mussidan and Pierre Marteau were holding a conversation 
on the Eue du Helder, Louis Ohancelade was alone in his 
friend Doradour^s modest home, and as the weather hap- 
pened to be delightful, he went out into the garden to 
smoke his pipe and think of Mme. Bastide. 

The pretty face of the young widow haunted him; and it 
seemed to him that he could still hear her sweet voice. 

He was aroused from his reverie by a much more distinct 
sound, however. Some one was vigorously shaking the 
closed gate, and the first idea that occurred to Louis was 
that the police were trying to force an entrance; but he 
soon recollected that There was no bell to the gate, and 
that any visitor who was not provided with a key could an- 
nounce his arrival only by shaking the rusty bars. 

Still, this was the first time that any visitor had present- 
ed himself since Ohancelade had been staying in his friend ^s 
house, for Doradour transacted all his business at his ware- 
house, and never received customers at his home. 

The noise continuing, Ohancelade decided to approach 
the gate, but he did so very cautiously, keeping as much 
out of sight as possible. 

He saw there a woman dressed in black and closely 
veiled — a woman who was certainly not Edmee, but whom 
he mistook for Mme. Bastide merely- because the wish was 
father to the thought, probably. 

So he ran to the gate to open it, but his delusion was 
instantly dispelled, for the person standing there thus ad- 
dressed him: 

Well, here you are at last, and I am certainly glad of 
it. I have been bruising my fingers here for at least half 
an hour. I am almost sure that I have blistered them. 

It was the voice of Coralie Bernache, and any lingering 
doubts that Louis might have felt in regard to his visitor's 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 93 

identity vanished^ for the lady immediately proceeded to 
lift her veil. 

Nothing could have annoyed Louis more than this ill- 
timed visit, but he saw no way to avoid it, for if he should 
refuse to open the gate, a scene would inevitably ensue, and 
fully realizing this fact, he reluctantly drew the bolt and 
motioned Mile. Bernache to enter. 

^^Hnw strangely you act!^^ she remarked, point-blank. 

One would say that you were not particularly pleased 
to see me. 

I — I certainly was not expecting the honor of a visit 
from you, stammered poor Chancelade. In fact, you 
promised me that you would not come here — 

‘‘Nor should I, if you had come to see me, as you half 
promised you would. I have been thinking of you ever 
since we parted, day before yesterday; and now I want you 
to guess who I had a long talk with this morning. 

“I haven '’t the slightest idea,"’"’ replied Chancelade, 
rather abstractedly, for he cared very little about knowing 
what had befallen Mile. Bernache since he parted from her 
at the door of her house on the Eue Mogador. 

“ It is useless for you to try to guess. You would never 
succeed. 

“ Tell me, then. 

“ Ah, well, I will not keep you in suspense. A little 
while ago, just as I was leaving home, whom should I meet 
at the corner of the street but our spy of the masquerade 
ball. 

“ Pierre Marteau?^^ 

“ Precisely, and I am satisfied that he was coming to see 
me, though he would not admit it. But however that may 
have been, I certainly fooled him capitally. In fact, I flat- 
ter myself that I have delivered you from his persecution 
forever. 

“ What! he has abandoned the idea of pursuing me. 
Impossible ! He is paid for it, you know. 

“Yes; we saw him at work Thursday night; but I found 
a way to destroy his interest in his task.^"" 

“ How did you do it?^-^ 

“ First, I told him that the domino who escorted me 
home from the masquerade was a Russian prince who had 
arrived the evening before from Moscow — where he is still 
•—for I do not expect him to reach Paris before next week. 


94 THE PRETTY JAILER. 

Did he believe this story 

I hope so. Moreover, in the course of our conversation 
I took care to tell him that you had sailed for America, and 
that old Sigoules had just received a letter from you, writ- 
ten in New York. But the richest thing of all is that I 
finally offered him the protection of my admirer, and he 
accepted it. In fact, I promised to secure him a situation 
in Eussia. Nor is this all. I placed no confidence what- 
ever in his avowed determination to renounce his present 
employment, so I thought it best to start him off on a false 
scent, and I succeeded in this also. 

How?^^ 

By convincing him that the real assassin of the com- 
missioner was the handsome Mussidan.""^ 

“ Monsieur de Mussidan! But he was not the assassin. 
You have accused an innocent man. 

'' I don't know whether the baron is innocent or not, 
but I do know that he and Aurelie carried on a desperate 
flirtation during his stay in the Salviac prison, and you 
know this as well as I do. " 

‘I I hope you did not inform her husband of the fact?" 

I certainly did, and it only served her right, after the 
way she treated me. She hasn't been near me since she 
arrived in Paris. " 

Still, that is no reason why you should betray a secret 
she^confided to you. You did it only to make mischief. " 

You think so, do you? Then you are a great simple- 
ton. If I betrayed Aurelie, it was not for the sake of re- 
venge, but merely to get you safely out of your difficulties." 

I do not understand you," said Louis, dryly. 

Take the trouble to reason a little. I could not accuse 
Mussidan of the murder of the commissioner without say- 
ing that he was in the habit of leaving the prison at night 
whenever he pleased, and I could not say he did that with- 
out disclosing the state of affairs between Aurelie and. him- 
self; for, though she allowed you, too, to leave the prison, 
it was only because the baron compelled her to do so. " 

Is all this true?" asked Chancelade, ^ "owning darkly. 

Perfectly true. I obtained my imormation from 
Aurelie, who certainly could have had no object in misrep- 
resenting the facts. And between ourselves, I should not 
be very much surprised if Mussidan did commit the mur^ 
der." 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


95 


I can not believe that. Why should he have killed a 
man who never injured him?'’^ 

Are you going to undertake his defense? You talk as 
if you were his lawyer. Very welb I will answer you as if I 
were the prosecuting attorney. Mussidan might have had 
grievances that we know nothing about against this com- 
missioner. Besides, it is his business to prove his inno- 
cence, if he can — ^when he is arrested. 

What! Marteau really thinks of arresting him?’"' 

‘‘I should say he did! He will never rest until he is 
avenged upon the man who deceived him, and he could 
ask no more cruel revenge than to send him to the guillo- 
tine. There will be no such thing as stopping him now. 
Mussidan, who suspects nothing, is enjoying himself hugely, 
but some line morning he will be awakened by the grasp of 
a gendarme’s hand upon his collar. 

I care nothing about that, however. What I do care 
for is, that Marteau is not likely to give you any further 
trouble. Now tell me again, if you dare, that I did wrong 
to tell him what I did.^^ 

“ I say that it was infamous in you,’^ retorted Chance- 
lade, Avho was now in a towering rage. 

Infamous!^^ repeated Corahe, beginning to get angry 
in her turn. This is really too much! You forget that I 
did it to save you. You are no match for an old stager 
like Marteau, and if any one should be sent to the guillo- 
tine, it will certainly be you, if I did not interfere. 

I have no desire to be saved at such a price; and I tell 
you now that Monsieur de Mussidan should be arrested. I 
shall surrender myself in order to be able to testify in his 
behalf. 

‘‘ Testify! Why, you know nothing whatever about the 
affair! What could you do, except to acknowledge your- 
self the culprit? And if you are not absolutely mad, you 
will not carry your Quixotism so far as to accuse yourself 
of a crime you did not commit. 

‘‘ I shall say that Monsieur de Mussidan might easily have 
made his escape, but would not. No one will believe that 
he would have remained in prison of his own free will if 
his head had been in danger. I did not remain when an 
opportunity to make my escape presented itself. 

Coralie started. A new idea had just presented itself to 
her mind. Incapable of understanding the elevated senti- 


96 


TH-E PEETTY JAILEE. 


ments that inspired Oliancelade, she began to wonder if he 
h^ not really committed the murder, and she was so con- 
stituted that this suspicion did not appall her — quite the 
contrary. This frivolous and light-hearted Coralie was 
absolutely devoid of principle, and in her secret heart it 
mattered very little to her if her lover did have a crime 
upon his conscience, provided the lover pleased her. 

“Listen,"" she said, in an entirely different tone. “I 
am sure that you are concealing the truth from me. You 
think it would horrify me to learn that you fired the shot 
that has caused all this trouble. You do not know me. A. 
knowledge of the fact would not alter my feelings' in' the 
least. Tell me all — tell me that you can not bear the 
thought of allowing the baron to be condemned in your 
^ead; admit that it was you who killed that treacherous 
Corsican. "" 

“ You take me for an assassin?"" cried Chancelade, ex- 
asperated almost beyond endurance. 

“ Don’t put on airs, but answer me frankly. “Was it 
you yes or no? If it was, I shall be all the more thankful 
that I have relieved you of Marteau, for he would certainly 
have caught you some day or other. "" " 

“ He will have even less difficulty in catching the inno- 
cent man you have denounced. "" 

You bore me to death with your talk about innocence. 
There is no one you can truthfully call innocent, in this 
world, except, perhaps, a new-born babe, and it is a long- 
while since Mussidan cut his eye-teeth. Even if he should 
be arrested, he -null have an opportunity to defend himself- 
and if he were in your place, and you in his, he wouldn’t 
show so much anxiety to get you out of the scrape at his 
expense. 

I can not say what he would do^ but I should certainly 
be the vilest of WTetches if I permitted him to be con- 
demned. 

You really madden me with your display of lofty senti- 
ments^ and I begin to think that you are much more crafty 
than you appear to be. I make no pretensions myself, and 
1 heartily despise hypocrites. I am a good-natured girL 
but when a man treats me badly, I am not fool enough to 
him. I always intend to have my revenge, 
though, and you will yet repent of your treatment of me. 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 97 

Coralie was now so thoroughly incensed that she had 
quite forgotten her good manners. 

‘‘ For what do you reproach me?^^ asked Chancelade, 
coldly. 

“ 1 reproach you for treating me with contempt when 
you ought to thank me on your knees for what I have done 
for you. Because I was foohsh enough to take a fleeting 
fancy to him this gentleman thinks that he can snub me to 
his hearths content, and that I shall still be only too glad 
to remain his, abject slave. You are very much mistaken, 
my fine sir. You shall do as I say — 

Chancelade, whose patience was now entirely exhausted, 
sprung up from the bench upon which they had been sitting 
side by side, and said, sternly: 

You seem to have lost your senses completely, and I 
must ask you to go away.^^ 

‘‘ You order me away?^^ cried Coralie. 

I do not order you away, but I think this ridiculous 
scene has lasted quite long enough. 

Why can^t you muster up courage to acknowledge that 
you have another sweetheart, and that you are expecting 
her now?^^ 

This random shbt disconcerted Louis completely. He 
had steeled himself against insults, but he was not prepared 
for an attack of this kind, and he did not know how to 
parry it. 

“You are silent,^^ continued Coralie, “ you are silent, 
because you dare not deny it. She is coming here — that is, 
unless she is here already. Show me the simpering idiot 
you prefer to me. Is it some peasant girl of Salviac who 
followed you to Paris? Tell me, is it — why, yes, it is — it 
must be — Aurelie!^^ 

“ Once more, I tell you that you are mad!^^ cried Chance- 
lade, overwhelmed by this torrent of senseless words. 

And Coralie must, indeed, have lost her senses to see a 
rival in the person of Mme. Marteau, who had not met 
Edmee^'s brother since his escape from prison, and who did 
not even know that he was in Paris. 

But once started, Coralie could not be checked. 

“I understand now,^^ she continued; “I understand 
why you are so angry with me for having denounced her to 
her husband. It upsets all your plans. Marteau will keep 
an eve on her hereafter, and she will not find it so easy to 

4-2d half. 


98 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


deceive him. There is a very easy way for him to get rid 
of you, however. He will only be obliged to have you ar- 
rested. That will teach you not to make love to the wife 
of a detective. 

You have it in your power to deliver me up into his 
hands, of course,"^" replied Chancelade, coldly. Do so, if 
you hke. I should get only what I deserve for having been 
fool enough to trust you. 

I certainly shall do it, unless you convince me that I 
am mistaken. Do you despise me so thoroughly that you 
scorn to defend yourself? 

This quarrel had taken place in the garden only a short 
distance from the gate, for they had gradually approached 
the street without being conscious of the fact. 

Having become convinced of the inefficacy of threats, 
Coralie suddenly showed a disposition to change her tactics, 
for she turned and gently took Chancelade "s hand, but 
almost at the same instant she flung it violently from her, 
for a lady suddenly appeared before them. 

They had quite forgotten to fasten the gate on Ooralie's 
arrival, so the new-comer had' only to push it open to enter. 

Chancelade recognized the visitor at a glance, but Cor- 
alie, who had never seen her, uttered a cry of rage. 

So this is the person you were expecting, she shouted, 
shaking her clinched flst at Chancelade. You can not 
deny it. Now I understand your anxiety to get rid of me. 
Ah! well, you need not trouble yourself any further, I am. 
going. You will soon hear from me, however. Enjoy 
yourself at my expense with your sweetheaH; you will not 
laugh long I 

And she rushed from the garden without giving Chance- 
lade a chance to utter a word. 

The lady whose sudden appearance before them had 
brought about this denouement stood as if petrifled, and 
Chancelade was obliged to start toward her before she could 
muster up courage to advance. 

"^Excuse me, sir,'’" she faltered. “I called at the re- 
quest of Mademoiselle Edmee, your sister, but had I known 
that you were not alone — "" 

It is I, madame, who must implore your pardon,"" said 
Chancelade, impetuously. The lady who just left here 
called very unexpectedly to me, and you have done me a 
great service by relieving me of her company. "" 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


99 


Though Chancelade went so far as to say this, nothing 
could have induced him to tell Mme. Bastide the whole 
truth in regard to the stormy interview she had just inter- 
rupted, though her unexpected visit overwhelmed him with 
joy, and he bitterly cursed the chance that had brought her 
into Mile. Bernache^s presence. 

“ I have no explanation to demand of you,"’ she said, 
quietly. “You are surely at liberty to receive whom you 
please, and your sister did not send me here to learn your 
secrets. You requested me to come in her stead when a 
visit to you would be attended with danger to her, and 
that is the case to-day. 

Mhat has happened inquired Louis, anxiously. 

Nothing very serious so far, but last evening, after we 
left you, we dined at the tcible d^hots of the house in which 
we are staying, and it so happened that one of the boarders 
had a guest in the person of the Count de Sigoules, whom 
you know, I suppose. 

“ Very well. My father was one of the count’s tenants, 
and he was very kind to Edmee after my arrest. 

He recognized her instantly, though he was prudent 
enough not to show it. But after dinner he found a way 
to speak to her in private, and asked her to call on him 
to-day at his hotel, on the Eue du Holder. Your sister 
did so; but on entering the hotel, she noticed that a man 
was watching her, and this man proved to be the former 
keeper of the Salviac prison. 

^ ‘ Marteau ? We are lost ! 

No; for she succeeded in escaping from him. A rela- 
tive of the count, Baron de Mussidan, happened to be 
there. I do not know what he said to the man, but he 
^iceeeded in putting him to flight. Shortly afterward, 
Edmee returned to Montmartre, in a carriage, and she feels 
sure that she was not followed. Monsieur de Sigoules made 
her promise that she would not see you at present. It will 
be veiy difficult, he says, to succeed in making arrange- 
ments for your embarkation for a foreign land, if either of 
you are guilty of the slightest imprudence; and the most 
imprudent thing Edmee could do would be to visit you, for 
me police will probably keep an eye on her henceforth. 

I hat IS the reason she sent me here in her stead. She 
wished you to be apprised of the situation; my errand is 
done, and there is nothing for me to do now but to 


100 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


“ Already?” murmured Chancelade, sadly. 

“ I must. The lady who just left may return. ” 

“ Permit me, at least, to explain her visit. You just 
explained Edmee’s situation; you surely will not refuse to 
tell her mine?” 

“No; not if you wish to explain it to me. 

“Ah! well, say to her that I have just transformed that 
woman into a dangerous enemy, and that I can not remain 
any longer at the house of the friend who so kindly shel- 

"tcpcd IX1G» 

She did depart, vowing vengeance. How did you offend 
her so deeply?'’" inquired Mme. Bastide, lookmg searcn- 
ingly hi Louis. 

I told her never to set foot here again. She went away 
furiously angry, and I think her quite capable of denounc- 
ing me to this very Marteau who is in pursuit of me. "" 

That would be infamous! Still you would succeed in 
vindicating yourself, even if you should be arrested, I am 
sure. Edmee told me that you were accused of taking 
part in the rebellion that followed the coup d ctat* The 
days of rigorous measures are past."" 

'' If it had been merely a question of this insurrection m 
which I took no part whatever, I should have given my- 
self up long ago. But I am going to tell you the truth, 
madame. I am accused of having assassinated a govern- 
ment commissioner, a man named Santelli, whom I had 
never even seen. "" 

'^You!"" exclaimed Mme. Bastide, suddenly becoming 
pale and agitated. ‘‘You were the man who shot that—"" 

Do I look hke an assassin?"" asked Chancelade, straight- 
ening himself up proudly. 

‘‘ No, certainly not; but how does it happen that such a 
terrible crime is imputed to you?"" 

“ It would take too long to tell you how it all happened. 
Edmee can explain much better than I can the strange 
series of fatalities that led to my arrest. I am surprised 
that she has not done so before this. She was afraid of hor- 
rifying you probably. "" V -i 

The young widow seemed deeply moved; and it was not 
imtil after quite a long silence that she conquered her emo- 
tion sufficiently to say: . , , -i a a 

‘‘ I am not your judge, but I am your sister s devoted 
friend; and I can therefore expect the truth from you, 


THE PEETTY JAILEK. lOl 

Swear to me^ upon your word of honor, that you are not 
the person who killed Monsieur Santelli/^ 

“ I swear it,^^ replied Chancelade, without the slightest 
hesitation. “ I swear it, upon my honor — by my own life 
— by the life of my sister! and I hope that God will allow 
me to prove my innocence; but if I should be arrested 
how, I should certainly be convicted^ for appearances are 
strongly against me, and human justice is liable to err — 
especially in regard to a political crime. That is the reason 
there is nothing left for me to do but to tiee to a foreign 
land. . 

Mme. Bastide^s beautiful dark eyes which had been for a 
moment dimmed by an emotion Louis could not explain, 
regained their wonted brilliancy, and she seemed to breathe 
more freely. 

And if it be true, madame,^^ added Chancelade, that 
you wish to leave France, as Edmee assured me yesterday, 
and if you will consent to accompany us, exile will have 
no terrors for me. 

I am sure that I should be very glad not to be separa- 
ted from your sister, and if you •should decide to accom- 
pany us, I see no objection. But what will the lady who 
just left us think of the arrangement?^^ inquired the pretty 
widow, with a faint smile. 

I am not accountable to her for my acts. I scarcely 
know her — 

Indeed! But pardon me, sir,^^ resumed Mme. Bastide, 

I forget that I have no right to question you, and I beg 
that you will not answer the foolish question 1 just ad- 
dressed to you. I must now return to your sister, who is 
anxiously waiting for me. 

DonT go yet, I beg of you,^^ pleaded Louis. 

“Oh! I almost forgot that Edmee charged me to say to 
you that, in obedience to the count ^s advice, she will not 
go to meet Monsieur Jacques on the top of the hill. 

“ He went up there before noon, and he must be there 
still. I will go and. tell him. Besides, it is absolutely nec- 
essary that he should know what passed between that lady 
and myself. He knows her; Edmee also knows her. 

“Is it possible ?^.^ 

“Yes; and I should like to tell you the whole story if 
you will consent to listen to it» 


103 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


_ Recollect, if you please, that I ask you no questions ” 
mterrupted Mme. Bastide, mischievously, " 

_ “ But I wish you to know all. You are aware that I was 
imprisoned at Salviac^ and that I succeeded in making’ mv 
escape. ® 

You sister told me so yesterday. 

'' But probably she did not enter into details, which 
would certainly have bored you then, hut which may possi- 
bly interest you now. The lady you just saw visited the 
superintendent of the prison while I was incarcerated there 
and she assisted me in making my escape. ” ’ 

“ I can hardly wonder, then, that you were anxious to 
see her after your safe arrival in Paris.'’ 

“I was not anxious to see her again, for I felt no confi- 
dence m her. I sent Jacques to call on her, and that same 
evening I was foolish enough to attend a ball where she had 
made an appointment with me through the friend who will 
soon become my brother-in-law, if no misfortune befaUs 

US. 

‘‘ May I ask what occurred at this ball.?" 

• “ 7 ^^^ fftTmer superintendent of the prison 
m which I had been , confined. This man is now a member 
oi the detective force, and he was there in an official capac- 
rty. He recognized us— I know not how — ^for we were 
Imth in domino, and followed us persistently. In fact I 
should have been arrested if Jacques had not saved me 
How?" 

“ As we were leaving the Opera House, Jacques, who 
was.waitmg for me at the door, noticed that this man was 
tollowing us;, so he ran violently against him, tripping him 
up, and while he was apologizing, I succeeded in making 
my escape. ^ ^ 

When did all this happen 
" Day before yesterday.'’^ 

“ 4^*^ to-day?" 

No; and I never expected to see her again. Her call 
to-day was a great surprise to me. 

But she could not have come if you had not given her 
your address."^ ^ 

I admit that; but she asked me for it. and I hardlv 
knew how to refuse. 

“She is a rather dangerous person when offended, I 
should judge. ^ 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 103 

Very dangerous. She threatened to denounce me to 
the authorities. 

f Denounce you! Why, that would be infamous!'" 

I don't really believe that she will go so far as that, but 
it is none the less true that I am at her mercy. She 
knows this spy who is searching for me, and she met him 
in the street, and had a long talk with him just before she 
came here." 

“ Then she would only have to say the word for this man 
to come and arrest you. " 

Yes; and when her mind is upset with jealousy she is 
capable of anything." 

Then it was jealousy that impelled her to make this 
threat 

Chancelade dared not reply, but his face spoke for him. 

If she is jealous of you, it must be because she loves 
you," said Mme. Bastide, who seemed to take pleasure in 
tormenting the poor fellow. 

‘‘ Such a woman can not love," he murmured. 

- You are mistaken. All W4imen can love, even the 
most frivolous and degraded of their sex. But you must 
have given her some cause for jealousy. I thought you had 
seen only your sister and myself." ^ • 

What excited the anger of this very unreasonable per- 
son was that I undertook the defense of a certain Madame 
Marteau, the wife of the former keeper of the Salviac 
prison. My visitor boasted of having made trouble be- 
tween that l^y and her husband. I reproached her for it, 
and she fancied that I was in love with Madame Marteau 
myself, though she knew better; but her anger seemed to 
have destroyed her reason. What she did, too, was the 
more unpardonable from the fact that a man who was in 
prison at the same time that I was, is now likely to be 
accused of killing the commissioner. It seems that the 
jailer's wife allowed him to leave the prison at night when- 
ever he pleased, and Mademoiselle Bernache— for that is 
my late visitor's name — under pretext of proving that I 
was not the perpetrator of the crime, told the jailer that 
it was my companion in captivity. She even declared that 
she was certain of it, and Marteau must have believed her. 

I reproached her severely for making this accusation, and 
this was the beginning of our quarrel. The idea that she 


104 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


did not shrink from thus condemning an innocent man to 
death revolted me. 

But what if this prisoner should really be the culprit?^^ 

But he is not. I am no friend of his, though he once 
did me a great service; but I know him well enough to 
swear that he did not commit such a cowardly crime. 
Men in his rank of life do not assassinate. 

Of his rank? Is he, then, a nobleman inquired 
Mme. Bastide, with an eagerness that surprised Chancelade. 

He belongs to one of the noblest families in Perigord,^^ 
was the reply. He is the nearest relative of this Count 
de Sigoules, who has interested himself in my sister^s behalf, 
and whom you saw last evening. He was in command of 
the insurgents during the December rebellion, and had been 
in prison about two months when I was taken there. 

What is his name?^^ 

Adhemar de Mussidan. Do you know him?^^ he 
added, seeing that the lady showed unmistakable signs of 
surprise and agitation. 

‘^Idid know him; but I have not seen him for many 
years. I have no desire tb see him again, and, as I might 
happen to meet him — ^f or your sister tells me that he is now 
in Paris — I should like to leave France as soon as possible. 
I shall go this very day to secure my passage for America. 
Monsieur de Sigoules flatters himself, it seems, that he can 
obtain three passports — one for your sister, one for your 
friend Jacques, and one for yourself. 

“ Then we can depart together exclaimed Chancelade. 

Yes, unless Mademoiselle Coralie detains you.""^ 

You surely are not in earnest. I heartily detest her, 
as I just told you. 

“ Take care; I donT beMeve in such sudden conversions. 
Besides, you ought to feel grateful to her, as she assisted 
you in making your escape. 

“ I owe a much deeper debt of gratitude to Monsieur 
de Mussidan, who might have escaped himself, but who 
gave place to me. If I remained in France, it would be to 
defend him. 

“ By accusing yourself 

“No; for I am not guilty. 

“ if you confine yourself to pleading his cause, no one 
will listen to you. Think rather of gaining a place of 
safety. You can not sail for America to-morrow, but you 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


105 


can leave this house in which you are liable to be arrested 
^at any moment now this lady has found the way to it, 

I would leave it immediately if I knew where to go/^ 

“ Why should, you not join your sister in the house 
where she is boarding? I can say that I have known you a 
long time, and the landlady will not doubt my word. The 
best thing to do would be to tell her the simple truth — 
that you are Edmee’s brother, and that you have just 
arrived from Bergerac. No one has troubled her since 
she came to Paris, and no one is likely to trouble you. 
But, if you prefer, you can pass yourself ofl: as my brother. 

‘‘You would consent to that?^^ 

“ Why not? I should not hesitate at all, if there were 
no other means of saving you. 

“ That would be asking too much. Think how unpleas- 
ant it would be to you and Edmee, if I should be arrested 
in your company. 

‘‘ We should probably be questioned, but we should have 
no trouble in giving satisfactory answers. What judge or 
magistrate would dare pretend that any assistance rendered 
you was a crime? A sister certainly has a right to aid her 
brother, and I should only be obliged to tell my name to 
allay all suspicion so far as I myself am concerned. ^ 

Chancelade did not understand why the name of Bastide 
should have such a potent influence, but instead of inquir- 
ing he mentioned the only real objection to this arrange- 
ment. 

“ And Jacques?"" he asked, “ what should we do about 
liim? I can not desert him. What would he think if he 
failed to find me here on his return?"" 

“ That would not alarm him if he knew where you had 
gone. Didn"t you tell me thayt; he was now awaiting your 
sister on the summit of the laill? I can go to him and 
explain the situation. "" 

Yes; but he will not remain there indefinitely. I am 
even surprised that he has not returned before now."" 

“ There is nothing to prevent you from going to warn 
him. I would go myself, if I knew him."" 

“ But what if we should miss him on the way? What 
if, while we are going to meet him, the police, guided by 
Marteau, should invade this house? Jacques would rmi 
straight into the wolf "s jaws. "" 

“ He would not be captured. Edmee has told me about 


106 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


him^ and I feel sure that he would manage to escape the 
Paris police as he has always managed to escape the Peri- 
gendarmes, Eecollect, too, that we should not save 
him by remaining here. 

really think the danger is so imminent 

That woman threatened you with her vengeance, and 
she can secure a terrible revenge by denouncing you. If she 
does it at all, she will do it before her anger has had time 
to cool. She may have gone straight to the spy you spoke 
of, and on receiving her warning, he would be likely to 
act without a mementos delay. 

I can not believe that she will carry her threat into 
execution. 

But I do. The sight of me seemed to exasperate her, 
and she probably said to herself that if the officers made 
haste, they would find me at your house. She would nat- 
urally desire this, as she mistakes me for a rival. She 
thinks, perhaps, that I am a married lady, and that the 
police would compel me to reveal my name, and so get me 
into serious trouble. 

You are right, madame; and you must leave this place 
immediately. I should never forgive myself if I involve you 
in my misfortunes.'’^ 

Come with me, then. We shall be sure to meet your 
friend, and we can then consult with him.'’^ 

But I can not go to your boarding- house on foot, and 
without baggage. I must bear some resemblance to a 
traveler. 

It is not absolutely necessary that you should go there 
now, and in company with me. I will return alone, and 
after warning Edmee I will inform Madame Gouverneur 
that Mademoiselle Vedrines expects a brother, and a friend 
of her brother, this evening. You see, I do not forget 
Monsieur Jacques. I shall say that you will arrive about 
nine o^clock. Between now and then you will have time 
to purchase a trunk, which you can bring with you in a 
carriage. As your supply of money may be nearly ex- 
hausted, I have brought you some that your sister, who 
seems to think of ever3rthing, asked me to give to you. 

'' Not now,"" said Chancelade. " It will be time enough 
to give it to me when we have found Jacques. "" 

" Then you have no objections to my plan?"" 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 107 

i! None whatever. I would willingly follow you to the 
end of the world. 

I You will not have to go so far. Is there anything in 
' the house that might serve to set the police on your track 

‘‘ Nothing. The fellow-countryman who granted us his 
I hospitality will not trouble himself about us; besides, I 
shall write to him to-morrow, without indicating our new 
I address. He will understand our silence. 

“ Very well, let us start, then.^^ 

The young widow passed out first, Chancelade following 
her closely. He closed the gate behind him. This was 
equivalent to burning their ships, for they had no key to 
open it agam, Jacques having taken it away with him. 

The way was clear. Not a person was in sight, and 
there was no one at the windows of the three or four adja- 
cent houses. 

We had better take the shortest cut, the one by which 
I came,^^ remarked Mme. Bastide. We must go to the 
end of the lane, and then turn to the left and ascend a long 
flight of steps. 

Yes, replied Chancelade, ^^that is the way Jacques 
always goes; besides, it is the least frequented.-’^ 

They walked rapidly on, and in a few moments reached 
the cross-street. 

Just then a carriage turned into the lane they were 
leaving, and though it was a rare event for a vehicle to 
enter that narrow thoroughfare, they were too much pre- 
occupied to pay any attention to this incident, and they 
pushed on to the foot of the staircase. 

Then, glancing up, they perceived intrenched upon the 
topmost step two policemen who were quietly talking, with- 
out seeming to notice them in the least. 

The meeting was none the less disagreeable, and they 
asked each other whether they had better wait until these 
men had left the place, or whether they should ascend the 
steps at the risk of being confronted by these guardians of 
the public peace. 

Their hesitation was short, however, for, after a moment, 
the officers disappeared. 

‘‘ The way is clear. Let us take advantage of our oppor- 
tunity,^^ exclaimed Louis. 

He was about to assist Mme. Bastide up the rather steep 
staircase, when he heard the sound of hurried footsteps be- 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


108 

hind him, and turning suddenly, he found himself face to 
face with two men who, after hastily passing him, ascended 
several steps of the staircase, and stationed themselves upon 
the first landing. There, each of them drew a tobacco- 
pouch from his pocket, and began to roll a cigarette. 

Chancelade saw in an instant that these men were watch- 
ing him, and that they would follow him if he ascended the 
steps. 

‘/ I think we had better retrace our steps, he whispered 
to his companion. There is another street a short distance 
behind us; I will dart into that, and you, madame, had 
better walk leisurely toward the outer boulevard.-^'' 

The words were still upon his lips, when Jacques sud- 
denly appeared at the top of the staircase, and, recogniz- 
ing his friend^ started to run down the steps. The de- 
tectives who were standing with their backs toward him, 
did not see him, however. 

Chancelade made a sign to him that meant Save your- 
gelf!""' and Jacques had the presence of mind to scamper off. 

The detectives noticed the gesture, but when they turned 
to look^ Jacques had disappeared. 

“They will catch me, perhaps, thought Louis; “but 
they will not catch him. 

Chancelade was well acquainted with the topography of 
the neighborhood in which he had lived since his arrival in 
Paris. 

The lane upon which Doradour^s house stood started 
from the boulevard, and extended to a wall; there it di- 
vided, one narrow lane running toward the right, the other 
toward the left. 

In company with Mme. Bastide, he had taken the one 
leading to the left; but by retracing his steps, he could 
take the one leading to the right, and reach the summit of 
the hill by another path. 

To succeed in this attempt, however, he must be ahead 
of the two detectives who, upon seeing him turn back, had 
deserted their post of observation to follow him, and he was 
about to start off on a run when he found himself almost 
face to face with two others. 

At the same instant, he perceived a close carriage stand- 
ing in front of Doradour^’s house, and from this vehicle 
alighted a man dressed in a full suit of black who was 
probably in command of all these officials. 


THE PEETTT JAILEE. 109 

Flight would be useless; his retreat was cut off. The 
only thing he could do was to make the best of it. 

There is some one else in the carriage/^ murmured 
Mme. Bastide. It is a woman; the one I found at your 
house, doubtless. She went for a commissioner of police, 
and has returned to enjoy her revenge. 

1 hope you are mistaken. 

‘‘No, I am not mistaken. She has put her head out of 
the carriage window. It is she ! The commissioner turns 
as if to consult her, and she encourages him with a gest- 
ure. 

“I see her! I am lost! Leave me, quick! They will 
not dare to prevent you from passing. 

“ No, I shall share your fate. 

“ No, no! If they speak to us, tell them that you do 
not know me — tell them that you just met me in the 
street — 

“ What good would it do? That woman would contra- 
dict me. But you need have no fears for me. I shall only 
have to tell them my name. They will not arrest me. 

While they were advancing, conversing in a low tone, 
the men who had been standing on the staircase were 
gradually gaining upon them, and Chancelade and his 
companion being hemmed in, there was notliing left for 
them but to await the shock. 

The man dressed in black walked straight up to them. 

“You are Louis Chancelade, he said, “ a man accused 
of assassination, and a former inmate of the Salviac prison; 
are you not?^^ 

“ By what authority do you question me?^^ brusquely 
demanded M. Marteau^s former prisoner. 

The man unbuttoned his overcoat, pointed to a tri-col- 
ored belt, and replied, dryly: 

“I am a commissioner of police, and I have a warrant 
for your arrest. 

Chancelade attempted no denial, and indulged in no re- 
criminations, for fear that Mme. Bastide would compromise 
herself by trying to defend him. 

“ Very well,^" said he, “ I am ready to accompany you. 
Where are you going to take me?^^ 

“ First, to the prefecture of police, where you will be 
identified by some one who knows you well.*^^ 

“ I know who it is, and I also know that I have been 


110 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


denounced by a woman— the one you just left in the car- 
riage. I hope you will not attempt to compel me to enter 
it with her. I would be chopped in pieces, rather than 
endure the odious company of that unprincipled creature 

That will not be necessary. There is another carriage 
in waiting on the boulevard — a carriage in which there is 
room for me, for you, and for the lady who is with you.^^ 

You have no warrant for the arrest of this lady, I sup- 
pose, and you surely will not arrest her merely because you 
find her in my company. I just met her in the street, and 
I do not even know who she is.^^ 

But I must know, and I am sure she will be kind enough 
to tell me. Now, madame, tell me, if you please, how you 
happen to be in this gentleman ^s company, and explain 
quickly, for I have no time to lose. 

Mme. Bastide^s only response was to draw from her 
pocket a small package of papers which she handed to the 
commissioner. 

He shrugged his shoulders as he took them; and if he 
vouchsafed them a glance it was certainly only for appear- 
ances^ sake. 

But he had scarcely begun to examine them, when his 
expression changed. 

Is it really to you that this official letter is addressed?^^ 
he inquired, in a more courteous tone. 

You will not doubt it if you will take the trouble to 
examine my marriage-certificate, and the copy of the record 
of my husband^s death, 

These documents seem authentic. Where are you 
staying?^^ 

On the Eue des Abbesses, in a boarding-house kept by 
Madame Gouverneur.^^ 

“ And you came to Paris to secure a pension from the 
government 

Which has been refused, as you see. The letter of 
the Minister of the Interior is very explicit, it seems to 
me. 

So you are the widow of — 

“ Of Monsieur Angelo Santelli, General Commissioner of 
the Departments of the Center in the Southwest. 

Chancelade started violently. He understood now why 
the pretended Mme. Bastide had made him declare upon 
oath that he had not killed the commissioner. 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


Ill 


If you wish to satisfy yourself that I am telling you the 
truth, sir/^ the lady continued, ‘‘ you have only to take 
me into the presence of the secretary-general, with whom I 
had an audience day before yesterday. He will identify me. 
You can also make inquiries in Bordeaux. I bear my moth- 
er's name, but many residents of that city know the history 
of my marriage and its consequences. I have been legally 
divorced from Monsieur Santelli for several years — 

But that does not explain why I find you in the com- 
pany of his assassin, interrupted the commissioner, gazing 
searchingly at the widow. 

She bore the look unflinchingly, but Chancelade ex- 
claimed, impetuously: 

I forbid you to call me an assassin. 

Hearing his threatening voice, the officers approached 
with the evident intention of preventing an3rthmg like vio- 
lence, but their chief checked them with a gesture. 

“ I met Monsieur Chancelade for the first time yester- 
day, sir,^^ began the young widow. On my way to Paris 
I made the acquaintance of his sister, and I was with her 
when I met him. It was she who sent me to his house to- 
day, not daring to come herself. She told me that her 
brother was pursued on account of having taken part in 
the recent insurrection. I was not aware that he was ac- 
cused of a criminal offense — unjustly accused, I am sure. 
It was he who first informed me of the fact, protesting all 
the while against the injustice of the accusation. 

It is not enough for him to protest. He was fleeing 
when my subordinates intercepted him. You were with 
him. Where were you going?^^ 

He was fleeing, it is time. He expected to be de- 
nounced by a certain woman, and he was not mistaken, as 
she brought you here. I was taking him to his sister who 
lives in the same house with me. If you wish to satisfy 
yourself of this fact, send one of your subordinates home 
with me. 

All this was said so frankly, with such sincerity of accent, 
and so much energy, that the commissioner felt obliged to 
reflect a little before taking any decisive steps. 

He, as well as all his other colleagues, had long been 
ordered to keep a sharp look-out for Chancelade, and upon 
receiving Coralie^s information, he instantly took measures 
to arrest him. But there was nothing to prove that ChaU'- 


^112 THE PRETTY JAILEE. 

celade had an accomplice^ and the widow Santelli had not 
figured in the history of the affair; consequently, a con- 
scientious magistrate would not feel justified in arresting 
her merely because she was found in the company of the 
accused. In that case,, he might reasonably be accused of 
an excess of zeal, and he decided that he could not go so 
far. It was for the judges to verify the truth of this lady's 
statements. His duty consisted only in ascertaining whether 
she really hved at the Eue des Abbesses, and to have her 
closely watched until further orders. 

‘‘ So be it!" said he, one of my men shall accompany 
you home; but go at once, and be prepared for a speedy 
summons before the judge of instruction. You," he added, 
turning to Ohancelade, and pointing to the end of the 
street, will do me the favor to walk on. " 

The widow silently extended a hand upon which Louis 
dared not imprint .a kiss, though he was dying to do so, 
and then stepped aside. 

The commissioner called one of his subordinates, and 
gave him some brief instructions in a low tone; the others 
surrounded Ohancelade, who was now ready to move on. 

He knew now that the beautiful widow was not indiffer- 
ent to him, and he felt strong in his innocence. What did 
it matter mow, if he was sent back to prison.^ Something 
told him that he would leave it sooner or later, completely 
vindicated. He felt anxious only about his sister and her 
friend. 

It did not seem to him at all probable that Coralie had de- 
nounced Jacques, so he might reasonably hope that his 
friend would learn the condition of affairs from Edmee, 
and finally succeed in getting out of the scrape without any 
difficulty. 

Besides, he had not time to reflect long upon his friends' 
prospects, for, on passing Doradour'g house, he saw Oor- 
alie looking out of the carriage window, and perceived that 
she was weeping. 

They are carrying you away!" she cried, wildly, and 
it was I who betrayed you! Forgive me, pray, pray forgive 
me. " 

‘‘ Silence!" replied Ohancelade, giving her a look of 
scorn. 

Coralie drew back, and Ohancelade passed her with 
a-verted &ce. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


115 

The commissioner who overheard this interchange of re- 
marks, had very httle difficulty in gaining a pretty thorough 
understanding of what he had partially guessed before. 

Coralie had rushed into his office with features distorted 
with passion, and declared that M. Santelli^s assassin was 
hiding in a house near by. 

He had had a great deal of difficulty in eliciting any defi- 
nite information in regard to herself and the motives that 
impelled her to denounce this man, but he strongly sus- 
pected that he had to deal with a jealous woman who was 
thirsting for revenge; but as the information she imparted 
was important, he decided to act upon it without delay. 

Coralie asked permission to accompany him, and he made 
no objection, for he was anxious to punish her if her in- 
formation proved untrustworthy, as seemed more than 
probable. 

She was so furiously angry that she had entirely lost the 
power to reason, and she would gladly have strangled Chan- 
celade and her supposed rival with her own hands. 

But when her excitement subsided, which it did speedily, 
by reason of its very violence, she began to repent of what 
she had done; but, unfortunately, it was too late to prevent 
the disastrous effects of her denunciation, and before she 
reached Doradour^s house, the commissioner had dis- 
patched his subordinates in pursuit of the couple. 

She did not dare to leave the carriage, but witnessed the 
scene of the arrest from a distance, without understanding 
why the commissioner had such a long conversation- with 
the lady. Then she saw the lady walk away, and Chance- 
lade start toward the boulevard, escorted by the commis- 
sioner and three officers. 

Then her heart failed her; she burst into tears, and im- 
plored Chancelade to forgive her as he passed, but Chance- 
lade ^s only reply was an utterance of scorn. 

Half -frantic with despair, she leaped from the carriage 
with the intention of following him, but the commissioner 
who perceived her intention hastily retraced his steps, and 
said to her, dryly: 

The man you denounced has been arrested. You 
ought to be well satisfied. 

I told a falsehood. I accused him unjustly, because I 
was jealous. Arrest me, if you will, for swearing falsely; 
but do not take him to prison, 


^ 114 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 


Enough! You will be heard as a witness, but at pres- 
ent I have nothing whatever to do with you, and I beg that 
you will cease to trouble me. Ee-enter the carriage that 
brought us here. It will .take you home,"" and with an 
imperious gesture, the commissioner dismissed her. 

Coralie saw that there was no hope, and paused. 

Ohancelade had already reached the end of .the street, 
and the commissioner quickened his pace to overtake him. 
In a moment she saw them disappear around the, corner of 
the ^boulevard, where another carriage was in waiting. 

He hates me! he despises me!"" she murmured; and 
I shall never see him again. And it is I who have sent 
him to his death! What I have done is infamous! Oh! 
that woman, she is the cause of it all. When I saw her, I 
lost my senses! And they have not arrested her. She goes 
quietly away, while they drag him to prison! What can she 
have said to the commissioner to induce him to let her go 
free? What could have taken her to Louis" house? Who 
is she? I never saw her before. She certainly did not 
come from Salviac. She is not at all like a provincial, 
either in looks or in bearing. W’hat if she should be a 
friend of his sister? But his sister has no friends in Paris."" 

Coralie suddenly recollected that this mysterious stranger 
had walked back up the street, and that a pohceman had 
followed her at a distance. In which direction had she 
gone after turning the corner? 

Coralie had not noticed, but she fancied that she had 
gone toward the top of the hill, and the idea of trying to 
overtake her suggested itself. 

I am not afraid of her,"" she said to herself. I shall 
speak to her very plainly. She will have to explain, and 
when I know with whom I have to deal, I will propose to 
her that we unite in an attempt to save Louis. "" 

And, without further reflection, Corahe started ofl on 
this wild-goose chase. 

Just as she drove up in front of Doradour"s house with 
the commissioner, she saw Chancelade turn into the street 
leading to the left, and afterward, in her despair, she failed 
to notice that Mme. Santelli had turned to the right, so she 
instinctively took the same route that Chancelade had taken. 

She had ascended the staircase, and gone only a short 
distance before she reached the little square in froiit of the 
mayoralty, but, seeing only a few shabbily dressed men 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


115 


Running themselves on the benches, and realizing that she 
■jiad made a mistake, she was about to retrace her steps 
vrhen she saw Chancelade^s friend Jacques approaching. 

I Warned by Chancelade^s significant gesture, Jacques had 
tlien good care not to descend the staircase; but he had 
iot gone very far away, and when he perceived Coralie, he 
dhd not hesitate to take advantage of the opportunity to 
Question her about what had happened. 

. They had not met before since the night of the mas- 
querade, but Chancelade had told Jacques of his adventure 
with Mile. Bernache, and Jacques had no difificulty in di- 
|x riniTtg that she had just paid Chancelade a visit. 

. Well?^^ he said, inquiringly.^ 

He has been arrested, replied Coralie. 

‘‘ Arrested! Why, I saw him not ten minutes ago.^^ 

He was with a lady, was he not?^^ 

“ Yes. It is true, though, that I also saw two men who 
seemed to be watching him — ^two detectives, probably, for 
,he motioned me to run away. 

There were two other officers lying in wait for him, 
ajnd also a commissioner of police. They have taken him 
prison. 

‘‘ Some one must have betrayed him. Who could have 
done it? That woman, perhaps. 

‘‘ You did not know her, then?^^ 

“ I looked at her sharply, and I have pretty good eyes; 
but I am sure that I never saw her before. Was she, too, 
arrested ?^^ 


j j No; a policeman followed her, but she is free. I am 
pursmt of her now, but I have lost sight of her, and I 
have about given up the chase. 

I ‘‘ What good would it do if you did overtake her? She 
■#ould not help us to set Chancelade free.^^ 

I ; You certainly can not hope to do that. 

j! Oh! I never despair; besides, they can not convict an 

limocent man. 


“ Then you are sure that it was not he who killed the 
commissioner?^^ 

‘‘ I was with him at least two leagues from Salviac the 
evening the fatal shot was fired — ^by whom, I am unfortu- 
nately not able to say.^^ 

I ‘‘1 know, however. 


lie 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


“ You know? and you have not denounced the assassin, 
though you were there when they arrested Louis?^^ 

The commissioner of police would not have believed me. 
I had no proofs; but I shall have to-morrow. 

Explain more clearly, if you please, and begin by 
telhng me the name of the assassin. 

The assassin was Monsieur de Mussidan.^^ 

You. are certamly crazy! Why, he was in prison at 
the time. 

Yes; but he left the prison whenever he chose — ^thanks 
to the kindness of Madame Marteau.^^ 

The judges will not take your word for it. 

But they will take that of Madame Marteau. 

What! do you suppose the lady will testify against 
herself?^^ 

I shall try to induce her to do so. 

By what means 

That is my secret. Only tell me where I can see you 
again 

I do not know. I shall not return to the house where 
I have been sta}dng with Chancelade, so I have no abiding- 
place. That doesnT trouble me much, however. I am 
accustomed to sleeping out-of-doors, and I may decide to 
return to Perigord.''^ 

Jacques did not mean a word of this, however, for he 
intended to go and hold a consultation with Edmee that veiy 
evening. 

There is nothing to prevent you from coming to my 
house. You have been there once already; and now that 
the police have your friend in custody, they will not trouble 
themselves any further about you. 

‘‘ Very well,^^ said Jacques; “ I will come. 

“ That is all I ask. Now we must part. I have given 
up all idea of finding the woman of whom I was in pursuit 
when I met you. I must think now only of saving Louis, 
and I will save him or perish in the attempt !^^ 


CHAPTER V. 

CoziLY established in charming apartments on the Rue 
de PArcade, looking out upon a corner of the Madeleine, 
Aurelie Marteau did not, we may rest assured, look back 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 117 

with regret upon the dreary life she had led in the Salviac 
prison a short time before. 

There were no more housekeepmg cares to be attended 
to; no more disconsolate-looking prisoners and morose 
keepers passing to and fro under her eyes; no more clank- 
ing of keys in her ears; no more growling to listen to on 
days when Pierre Marteau was in bad humor — and these 
days came about four or five times a week. 

And, best of all, she was rid of her husband. 

She came and went when she liked, without exposing her- 
self to the unpleasant comments of the residents of a small 
town, promenaded the boulevards, drove in the Bois, and 
patronized the theaters to her hearths content. 

Thus circumstanced, Mme. Marteau should have been 
perfectly happy, and yet one thing was wanting. 

After her return to Paris, sh« had confidently expected 
to resume the pleasant fiirtation with M. de Mussidan, which 
unforeseen events had so suddenly interrupted. She had 
left him in prison on her departure, but, pardoned through 
the generaPs infiuence, he had come to Paris with the ap- 
parent intention of remaining there. 

He had pleased her greatly at first sight, and he pleased 
her still better when she learned to know him. He was 
neither too young nor too old; he was well-born, well-bred, 
brave, intelligent, and gay in disposition. Aurelie despised 
parvenus, and detested equally fools and pedants. Al- 
though the baron had squandered his patrimony, he was 
the prospective heir to the large property of the Count de 
Sigoules, who was not likely to allow his cousin to suffer 
want while he lived. 

So, as soon as she learned through the general that M. de 
Mussidan had arrived in Paris, she began to make plans to 
meet him at the earliest possible moment. 

The opportunity presented itself at the masquerade ball, 
to which she had persuaded the general to take her. Ad- 
hem^r, in company with M. de Sigoules, entered the gen- 
eraPs box, and remained there half an hour, though the 
general h^ received him rather coolly. Aurehe had man- 
aged to exchange a few words with him, and as she had 
foreseen the visit, she had prepared a little note which she 
slipped into his hand, unobserved, and in which she invited 
him to call upon her, and made some very prettily worded 
allusions to their former delightful friendship. 


118 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


Her invitation had not been accepted, however. In- 
deed, Adhemar had not even taken the trouble to apologize 
by letter for not accepting it, and this silence could be inter- 
preted only as a mark of disdain. 

In fact, this decidedly cavaher treatment was well calcu- 
lated to wound the fair Aurelie deeply. 

After vainly waiting at home, carefully adorned for con- 
quest on the day following the ball, she waited for a note 
of apology, or, at leasts of explanation, for two days after- 
ward; but the note did not make its appearance. 

As a natural consequence, her disappointed love was fast 
turning to hatred, and she was beginning to concoct 
schemes of revenge. This was the first time a man had 
ever ventured to scorn her, and of all the men she had 
known, M. de Mussidan was most deeply indebted to her. 

She was in this frame of mind when, on the third day 
after the ball, just as she was going out to drive away the 
blues by a promenade in the Champs Elysees, her maid 
announced that . a lady who declined to give her name, 
wished to speak to her on important business. 

Aurelie, though she was not in the habit of receiving 
strangers, had a presentiment that she would not regret a 
departure from her rules in this instance, so she gave orders 
to admit the visitor, and had some difiiculty in recognizing 
Coralie Bernache, so greatly had the poor girl changed 
since her trying experience of the day before. 

^ Mme. Marteau predicted no good of tliis unexpected 
visit, but she did not allow this fact to appear. 

May I inquire to what I am indebted for this visit 
she began, formally. 

Whereupon Coralie rephed in a very different tone: 

‘‘You are angry with me. You are wrong, and you 
must grant me a hearing. Afterward, you can turn me 
out-of-doors, if you like.'^'^ 

“ What do you wish to tell me?^^ inquired Mme. Mar- 
teau, without departing from the formal manner she had 
thought it proper to assume. 

“ Chancelade has been arrested, replied Corahe. 

“ Chancelade, and who is Chancelade 

“ Do not feign ignorance. You have good reason to re- 
member what occurred at the Salviac prison, and you know 
perfectly well who I mean. What is the use of putting on 
airs with me? I did not come here as an enemy. I came 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 119 

to ask you to do me a service, and to render you one in re- 
turn. 

You are rather late about it. It is a long time since I 
returned to Paris, and if you had really desired to see me — 

I was afraid you would not admit me. You treated 
me so badly m Salviac; besides, it was only yesterday that 
Chancelade was arrest^. He succeeded in reaching "Paris, 
after passing through many dangers. I have seen liim 
since — and I love him. 

Mme. Maideau listened in silence, secretly wondering if 
her old friend had not lost her senses. 

Yes, I love him,^^ continued Corahe. ‘‘ 1 thought 
what I felt for him was only a fleeting fancy; but I have 
discovered my mistake; my heart is his beyond recall. 

That is unfortunate,"’^ sneered Aurehe, but do not 
worry. I know you, and you will soon get over it. 

Never! and he is in prison, accused of assassination. 
He will be condemned. 

What do you wish me to do?^^ 

‘‘ I want you to assist me in proving his innocence. 

I! You must be crazy, my dear!^^ 

Listen. You, too, were in love with a prisoner, when 
I was in Salviac, and you love him still, 

You are veiy much mistaken. Monsieur de Mussidan 
is now no more to me than any stranger. 

“ Then why did you slip a note into his hand the other 
night at the ball?^^ 

Mme. Maid eau started, and looked searchingly at Corahe, 
as if trying to discover how she could have gained so much 
information. 

‘‘ Were you at the ball?^^ she asked, coldly. 

Yes; in the box directly opposite yours. 

And from there you saw me give a note to Monsieur 
de Mussidan? You must have remarkable eyes.^^ 

I saw nothing of the kind; I onlv heard it.^^ 

‘MVhat!^" 

I heard Monsieur de Sigoules reproach his cousin for 
permitting it, imder the veiy eyes of Monsieur de Plancoet, 
to whom he is indebted for his pardon.'’^ 

Where did you hear this?^^ 

In the foyer. The gentlemen entered it on leaving 
your box, and I followed them. 

You are playing the spy now, it would seem.^^ 


120 


THE PEETTY JAILER. 


No; it is your husband who is now appearing in that 
T6lei, He was there in domino, but it was not you he was 
watching. He had learned, I know not how, that I had 
made an appointment to meet Chancelade there. He rec- 
ognized me by my voice, and after that, he followed me 
persistently, and I warned Monsieur de Mussidan, who was 
talking too loud, that Marteau was close upon our heels. 
But shall I tell you what I heard him say to his cousin be- 
fore I did that?^^ 

And, as Mme. Marteau was silent, Coralie continued: 

He told his cousin that it was no fault of his that you 
used his hand as a letter-box, and that he was firmly re- 
solved never to see you again. 

Aurelie turned pale. The shaft had struck home. 

do not tell you this to give you pain, continued 
Mile. Bemache; I only want you to know what you have 
to expect from this handsome young man for whom you 
have done so much. And he has kept his word, for he has 
not seen you since. 

“ How do you know?^^ 

I know it by your face, and I have come lo propose 
that we shall unite against the common enemy. In union 
there is strength, you know, my dear.-^^ 

To what enemy do you refer 

To this Mussidan, who slights and ridicules you, and 
who is the cause of all my poor Chancelade ^s misfortunes. 

What is that you say? On the contrary, it is to the 
baron that Chancelade owes his escape. 

Yes; he helped him to escape because he felt confident 
that the Baron de Mussidan would be pardoned, and that 
Chancelade ^s flight would make people even more confident 
of his guilt; and now he is in custody, they will convict 
him, if I do not prevent it. 

should like to know how you will prevent it.^^ 

By delivering the real culprit into their hands. 

You know the real culprit, then?^^ 

Yes; and so do you.^^ 

Unquestionably. It is Adhemar de Mussidan. 

This is really too absurd. Why, Adhemar was in 
prison at the time!^^ 

But he left the prison at night whenever he pleased?^^ 

He left it only once. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


121 


And on the very night the commissioner was killed. 

And what if he did. 

That fact alone is quite enough to make people accuse 
him.'''' 

“ Nonsense! Why should he have felt any desire to kill 
Santelli? He did not even know him. "" 

We are by no means sure of that. I feel satisfied that 
we should find there had been some trouble between them 
in former years^ if we looked into the matter. 

No one will believe it. The commissioner was at least 
twenty years older than Monsieur de Mussidan. They could 
certainly never have been rivals. 

‘‘ That is a great reason 

But no one knows, and no one ever will know that 
Monsieur de Mussidan passed several hours outside the 
prison that night. 

No one will know unless you tell them. 

And do you imagine I shall do anything as senseless as 
that?^^ 

If you do not, I may."" 

No one will believe you, if you do."" 

I told your husband, and he believed me. "" 

‘‘You did that, and dare to boast of it to me?"" 

“ I am not boasting of it, and it is only for your own 
good that I am making you acquainted with the situation; 
besides, Marteau seemed to bear the news very well. "" 

“ That is false, I am sure. He is the very man to kill 
his wife if he fomid her guilty of the slightest infidelity."" 

“ Nonsense! He did make a wry face when I related 
the little romance of the prison to him; but all his anger 
was directed against the handsome Adhemar. He did not 
say a word about you."" 

“You do not know him. Chancelade"s escape cost 
Monsieur Marteau his place, alidhewill have his revenge."" 

“ Upon Adhemar — yes."" 

“ And upon me as well. Your conduct has been infa- 
mous. What did I ever do tp you that you should so base- 
ly betray me?"" 

“ My dear, I was thinking only of savmg Chancelade. 
Each one for himself. Youi* husband was charged with 
the arrest of my lover. The idea of putting him upon an- 
other scent occurred to me, and I succeeded in doing it."" 


123 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


That can not be, for Oliancelade has been arrested, 
you say?^^ 

But it was not Marteau who arrested him. Marteau 
now thinks only of establishing the guilt of Monsieur de 
Mussidan. He pretends the contrary, but I know better. 
It was he, indeed, who called my attention to the conclu- 
sion a magistrate would inevitably draw from the pris- 
oner's nocturnal expedition. 

‘‘You forget that he will be obhged to denomice me 
also.^^ 

“ Which is a consideration that will not deter him. 

“ Then I am lost, and you come here to coolly announce 
the fact. Come, confess the truth! You have an object 
in all this. 

“ I just told you that my object was to save Ohancelade, 
and to save him without ruining you.-^^ 

“ I should like to know how you propose to do it.^^ 

“ I need not say that you were in love with Adhemar. It 
is only necessary for us to unite in the statement that he 
‘begged you to allow him to leave the prison, solemnly 
projnising to return, and that you were foohsh enough to 
yield to his entreaties; but that even after the event, you 
had no suspicion that it was he who shot the commissioner. 
If you are asked how you happened to make the acquaint- 
ance of one of your husband's prisoners, you can say that 
his window was opposite yours, and that you communicated 
with each other by signs. You can add that your share in 
the matter was confined to opening the door of his cell, 
and the window of one of your apartments that overlooked 
the street; and if the magistrate wishes to know why you 
now reveal facts that you have kept a secret up to the pres- 
ent time, you can tell him that, having just heard of the 
recent arrest of Ohancelade, you are afraid that an inno- 
cent man will be condemned, and you resolved to conceal 
the truth no longer. Who will contradict you? Certainly 
not Pierre Marteau. He will rather sustain you, for even 
if he thinks that you have deceived him, he will not want 
everybody to know it. Will Monsieur de Mussidan? No; 
for he would gain nothing by it. 

Aurelie listened to her friend's arguments with bowed 
head. She admitted their weight, but she was not wholly 
convinced, and her face betrayed the feelings that agitated 
her. 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


1:^3 

She could not forgive her old friend for placing her in 
such a dangerous position by betraying the secret she had 
discovered, but she was obliged to admit tliat her advice 
might be worth following. 

I'ti® excuse invented by Coralie was quite plausible, and 
Mme. Marteau might reasonably hope that her husband 
and the authorities would be satisfied with it. In fact, her 
role would be a rather creditable one, for she would appear 
to be sacrificing herself to save an innocent person. 

Besides, she had very strong doubts of Adhemar's guilt. 
She was persuaded that he could vindicate himself by prov- 
ing that he had left the prison only to destroy the fist of 
insurgents, and other compromising papers. This was 
the explanation he had previously given, in Salviac, and she 
had believed him. Others might believe him, and M. de 
Mussidan would probably escape at the cost of some annoy- 
ance and another imprisonment which would not be of long 
duration probably. 

This was exactly what Aurelie wished. Her desire for 
revenge did not extend to desiring the death of her former 
admirer. A much milder form of revenge would satisfy 
her entirely, and she felt that Adhemar would be sufficient- 
ly punished if she could succeed in again casting him into 
prison. 

Still, Aurelie was not quite so sure that he would be re- 
leased, as she tried to persuade herself; and the stakes in 
this dangerous game was the life of a man that she had 
loved, and that she still loved, perhaps. 

So she hesitated, and Coralie, perceiving it, resorted to a 
falsehood to decide her. 

It costs you a struggle, I see, to denounce Adhemar, 
she continued, gently ; ‘ ‘ and if he had only deserted you, I 
could understand your hesitation; but you canT know how 
shamefully the heartless coxcomb has talked about you. 

ci has he said?^^ asked Mme. Marteau, eagerly. 

I did not repeat all I heard him say in ilae foyer, while 
I was following him, for I did not want to cause you un- 
necessary pain; but as you still appear to cherish some illu- 
sions in regard to this scoundrel, 1 want you to know what 
you ought to think of him; so I shall no longer conceal the 
fact that I heard him speak of you to his uncle in the most 
insulting terms. He said that his flirtation with you an- 
swered to pass away the time while he was in prison, but 


124 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


that you were quite beneath his notice now he was out 
again. 

“ This is really too much!^^ muttered Mme. Marteau. 

He even went so far as to say that your hair was red, 
and that you had frightfully ugly hands. If he had known 
that I was listening, he would have sung an entirely differ- 
ent song, for he knows perfectly well that he is at your 
mercy. But, fortunately, I was there — though I have no 
patience with myself when I tliink that I was fool enough 
to warn him that your husband was watching him. I 
ought to have let Marteau run him through. But you 
know all now, and I hope you will make liimpay dearly for 
his treachery. 

Yes; he shall pay for it. You may be assured of that,'" 
said Mme. Marteau, grimly. 

‘‘ Then you will go with me to the commissioner of po- 
lice?" asked Coralie, eagerly. 

What commissioner of police?" 

The one that arrested Chancelade. I do not propose 
to appeal to your husband. It is not with him that we 
shall have to deal principally in this matter." 

'' And what shall I say to this commissioner?" 

'' Tell him that, hearing of Chancelade "s arrest, you feel 
it your duty *to inform him of what occurred in the Salviac 
prison." 

But he will ask my name. " 

“ Of course; and you will have to give it, and explain 
your position to him fully. He will understand that it is a 
vei;y dehcate one, and he probably will not think it advisa- 
ble to drag Pierre Marteau into the matter. He will hear 
your testimony, and report it to the proper authorities, 
and the goy QTnm&nt p7'0cuTeuT will at once issue a warrant 
for Monsieur de Mussidan's arrest. " 

And after that?" 

After that you will be summoned before the judge of 
instruction, to whom you will repeat yom’ story. Then 
one of two things will happen : either that rascal Adhemar 
will be sent before the Court of Assizes, and you will be 
summoned as a witness against him, or else Adhemar will 
secure a dismissal of the charge. But in either case, he 
will have to spend several weeks in prison, from which he 
will not emerge spotless by any means, for an accusation 
like that always clings to a man. His reputation will have 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


125 


undergone serious injury^ and he will not dare to show 
i himself anywhere, for all the people of his set will snub 
i him unmercifully.'’^ 

‘‘ That is exactly what I would like/" murmured Aurelie. 

I Oh! yes, I understand. You can not forget that you 
were once deeply in lo’ve with him, so you would not like 
I to see him beheaded, but you would not be sorry to give 
' him a severe lesson. You need not hesitate; he has very 
influential friends, and he will be defended by the best law- 
j yers in Paris. He will come out all right eventually, but 
you will be amply avenged. But we must waste no more 
time here. I know where to And the office of the commis- 
sioner who arrested Chancelade, and I will take you there. 
It is at Montmartre. There is a carriage in waiting below, 
and in, -ten minutes we shall be there. "" 

A carriage was in waiting below, and Mme. Marteau was 
dressed to go out; but she seemed to be in no haste to re- 
ply to the pressing invitation of Coralie, who, seeing her 
hesitation, exclaimed : 

What! you. still hesitate, after all I just told you? 
What are you made of, that you can tamely submit to such 
insults? You were not such a coward a few years ago, and 
a lover that treated you so shamefully, would have fared 
hard. You would never have forgiven him."" 

I have not forgiven Monsieur de Mussidan, but I 
would prefer to have my revenge in a different way. I 
should be better pleased if I could compel him to leave the 
country. "" 

By threatening to inform on him. He would only 
laugh at your threats; and even if he should yield to them, 
Chancelade would be no better off. The flight of the real 
culprit would not prove Chancelade "s innocence. "" 

Yes; for I should exact from him, before his depart- 
ure, a written confession in which he* admitted that he was 
Monsieur Santelli"s murderer."" 

That would amount to little or nothing. Every one 
would beheve that he wrote it merely to vindicate Chance- 
lade. Besides, he would refuse to make such a statement. "" 

If he refuses, I shall go straight to a commissioner of 
police."" 

Yes; and M. Mussidan being warned, will lose no time 
in making his escape. Besides, if you should see him 
again, you would not keep your word. You love him still. 


126 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


in spite of what you say, and he has so much influence over 
you, that you will not be able to summon up courage to 
denounce him. 

“ I do not think that he would be able to dissuade me; 
but I shall not give him a chance. It is not Adhemar that 
1 am going to see. 

I don°t understand you.-’^ 

^ I am going to see his nearest relative, the Count de 
Sigoules. I shall make him the bearer of my message to 
Monsieur de Mussidan, and ask him to give me an answer 
to-morrow. I shall grant him a respite of only twenty- 
four hours. 

This was not what Coralie desired, but it was something, 
and really more than she had expected to obtain from 
Mme. Marteau at the beginning of their conversation. 

Will you permit' me to Represent at your interview 
with this Sigoules she asked. 

“ No,^'^ replied Aurelie, decidedly; ‘^your presence 
would not be ,of the slightest advantage to me — quite the 
contrary; in fact. Monsieur de Sigoules would never for- 
give me for accusing his cousin of murder in the presence 
of a stranger. 

“ He saw me on the day of my arrival in Salviac, and he 
has often heard me spoken of. 

No matter. You would be in the way. I shall go 
alone. 

“ When?^^ 

“ Immediately. I know that Monsieur de Sigoules is at 
the Hotel du Holder. He told the general so the other 
m'ght.^^ 

“ If you refuse to allow me to accompany you, you must, 
at least, promise that you will lose no time in informing 
me of the result of your iuterview with the old count. I 
will go straight home' and wait for you there. 

“ I will drop in to see you before night; but you, in turn, 
must promise me to take no further steps in the matter 
until after you see me again. I am willing to do all I can 
to ‘help your Chancelade, but I must be allowed to act in 
my own way.^^ 

You are right, replied Coralie, and you need have 
no fear of my doing anything without your knowledge. I 
should be tpo much afraid of spoiling your plans, uninten^ 
tionally.^- 


THE PEETTY JAILEK. 


127 


Then leave me. You still reside on the Eue Mogador, 
I suppose 

‘‘Yes; and I shall not stir from the house to-day. 

“ Try to be alone when I come. 

“You may depend upon that^ and it will not cost me 
much of a sacrifice^, I assure you. I havenT the heart to 
entertain visitors since poor Chancelade was taken to 
prison. Clara Lasource called^ and I sent her word that I 
was ill. 

“ WasnT Monsieur de Mussidan very much in love with 
her at one time?^'’ 

“Yes; and I thinks from appearances, that she is quite 
ready to renew her flirtation with him. Li fact, she may 
have done so already, added Coralie, in order to make 
her friend still more jealous. 

“ It will have to be postponed awhile, muttered Mme. 
Marteau. “ Have you seen the sub-prefect since your re- 
turn 

“ He was at the ball, but he did not recognize me under 
my mask. He had better not present himself at my 
house. If he does, I shall certainly shut the door in his 
face. Chancelade is worth a thousand of him. 

“ Are you as far gone as that?^^ 

“Yes; I am desperately in love with him, and if you 
will help me to set him free, you will find me ready to go 
through fire and water for you. 

‘ I am not so exacting as all that, but I must go. I have 
wasted a quarter of an hour in questioning you, and I very 
much fear that I shall miss Monsieur de Sigoules.-"^ 

“ Let me kiss you before l\go. 

Mme. Marteau offered her cheek with tolerably good 
grace, and Coralie imprinted a hearty kiss upon it and then 
rushed off. 

Women '’s quarrels do not generally last very long, and 
this reconciliation, being founded on mutual interest, was 
tolerably sincere. Coralie could hope to repair her disas- 
trous step of the day before, only through Mme. Marteau; 
and Mme. Marteau having been denounced to her husband, 
could get out of the scrape only by following Coralie ^s ad- 
vice. 

•Through the mediation of M. de Sigoules, she hoped to 
extort a sort of certificate of good character from Adhemar 
before he fled from the country to escape a more or less 


128 


THE PRETTY JAILER, 


well-founded charge; and this interested her much more 
than any desire to prove Louis Chancelade^s innocence. 

Nor did she despair of accomplishing her object^ though 
the undertaking was an extremely hazardous one. 

She had seen enough of M. de Sigoules to miderstand his 
character pretty thoroughly, and she depended much upon 
the effect that her charms would produce. A gallant old 
gentleman is never insensible to the woes of a pretty wom- 
an; and the venerable count would certainly he Mattered to 
think that this beautiful creature had applied to him, as 
to a judge from whose decision there was no appeal, and 
that she had constituted him a sort of family tribunal that 
was to pass sentence upon Adhemar de Mussidan. 

She went to him, therefore, in all confidence; her prin- 
cipal uneasiness being that she might fail to find him. 

She remembered, too, that she might find him in his 
cousin ^s company, and she was resolved, in that case, to 
insist upon a private interview, without even honoring her 
former admirer with a look. 

Thus prepared, there was nothing for her to do but be- 
gin her campaign, and five minutes after Coralie^s depart- 
ure, she stepped into a carriage which bore her rapidly to 
the Hotel du Helder. 

The concierge told her that M. de Sigoules was at home, 
and that he was alone. 

She went upstairs, tapped modestly at the door of the 
suite of apartments designated to her. A masculine voice 
bade her enter; she opened the door, and found the count 
smoking his pipe by the fire-place. 

He sprung up with alacity on seeing a lady, and as soon 
as she lifted her veil, he recognized her; but the greeting 
was not what she had anticipated, for his face assumed a 
decided frown instead of the expected smile; and as he 
evinced no eagerness to offer her a chair, Mme. Marteau 
realized that she must straightway broach the subject that 
had brought her there. 

Count, you must excuse me for presenting mpelf here 
without your permission, she said, gravely. “ I should 
not have taken this liberty, if I had not been obliged to 
speak to you on matters of great importance. A man^s 
life and honor are at stake. 

“ Indeed responded the nobleman, with a rather in- 
credulous smile. 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


129 


Yes, count; and, as we are likely to be interrupted at 
any moment, I should be greatly obliged to you if you 
would lock the door. 

Marveling greatly at this request, but unable to find any 
good excuse for a refusal, the count did as he was bid. 

‘‘ Now, madame,^" he said, politely but coldly, will you 
have the kindness to sit down and explain as briefiy as 
possible what brought you here? I am expecting visitors, 
and I have very little time at my disposal. "" 

Aurelie took a chair and as M. de Sigoules seated him- 
self on the opposite side of the fire-place, she broke the ice 
by saying: 

Sir, you are probably aware of the feelings that once 
existed between Monsieur de Mussidan and myself. 

Yes, madame. My cousin told me what took place in 
the prison of which your husband was keeper. He did 
very wrong — 

He certainly might have been silent on this subject. 
Still, it is not of this indiscretion on his part that I com- 
plain, as it was you that he chose for a confidant. My se- 
cret is in good hands, and I feel sure that you will not be- 
tray it. You also know that I did not see Monsieur de 
Mussidan after his return to Paris until I met him at the 
ball last Thursday. You may have even noticed that I 
handed him a letter there. 

Yes, madame; and you must allow me to say that I 
think Adhemar acted very wisely in not replying to it.^"* 

Do you likewise approve the disparaging remarks he 
has made about me?^^ 

What disparaging remarks 

He told you in the foyer that he had had enough of 
me, that he was tired of me. He even went so far as to 
say that I was hideous in appearance. 

I heard nothing of the kind. The person who was fol- 
lowing us must have misrepresented the facts. Adhemar 
merely declared that he was resolved not to resume his 
flirtation with you. 

And you think he is right 

Perfectly right, especially as he owes his liberty to the 
influence of the Marquis de Plancoet. 

“ He might have left me with more respect. 

Pardon me, madame, said the count, impatiently, 
‘‘lam no fit judge of the grievances you may have a^ai’^*^^-^ 

5-2d half. ^ & 


130 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


niy relative, and if there is nothing else you wish to speak 
to me about — 

I shouldn't have taken the trouble to come here about 
such a trifle/^ interrupted Mme. Marteau. I do not 
come to complain of Monsieur de Mussidan; I come to 
warn you of a danger that is now threatening him, and to 
combine with you to save him if there is still time. 

^ ‘ Save him from what ^ 

From disgrace, and very possibly from death. 

What is the meaning of this unseemly jest?^^ 

I am not jesting. He is about to be accused of the 
murder of Monsieur Santelli, the commissioner-general. 

One might as well accuse him of having stolen the 
towers of Notre Dame. But who intends to bring this 
charge against him? Is it you?^^ 

No, sir. I have a better memory than he has. I can 
not forget that I once loved him, and an all-sufficient proof 
that I wish him no harm is the step I have just taken. 
Monsieur de Mussidan will soon be denounced by a lady 
who is not, and who never has been in love with him, but 
who is in love with Louis Chancelade. Do you begin to 
understand the situation?^^ 

Not in the least. 

It is very plain, however. This Chancelade, if he had 
not succeeded in making his escape from the Salviac prison, 
Avould very probably have been tried and convicted as the 
commissioner's murderer. 

I am perfectly satisfied that he is not guilty, however. 
Besides, he is out of reach. He has crossed the frontier 
before this. 

You are very much mistaken, sir; and if you feel an 
interest in his sister, as I think you do, you can inform the 
young girl that he was arrested yesterday at Montmartre.'’^ 
How do you know?^^ inquired the old nobleman, cast- 
ing a suspicious glance at Aurelie. 

The lady who is so deeply in love with him just told 
me so. You know her. You saw her enter Salviac in a 
poste-chaise. She met Chancelade there, while she was 
staying with me at the prison, and assisted him in making 
his escape. She has also met him since her return to 
Paris, and as she positively adores him she has solemnly 
sworn to prove that it was not he who killed Monsieur 
'wtelli.^^ 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


131 


By charging Adhemar with the crime? Eeally I think 
I must be dreaming when I hear such an absurd story. So 
this creature hopes to persuade the judges that Monsieur 
de Mussidan had wings^ and that he flew through the bars 
of his dungeon 

'Noy count; she will simply prove that the doors of the 
prison were opened for him at almost any time — that they 
were opened for him on the night of the murder. 

On hearing these words, M. de Sigoules started up in his 
arm-chair, and looked searchingly at Mme. Marteau. 

Who opened them for him? You must know, as you 
were there. 

I did,^^ replied the fair Aurelie without the slightest 
hesitation. 

You? And why?^^ 

Because he asked me, and I had not the heart to refuse 
him. I frequently visited him in his cell. One evening he 
implored me to allow him to leave the prison for a short 
time the following night at ten oYlock — Iliad just informed 
him of the commissioner's arrival — swearing that he would 
return before midnight, and he kept his word.*’^ 

He must have told you his reasons for making this 
request. 

He told me that he wished to destroy some papers he 
had concealed near the club-house — papers implicating cer- 
tain parties who had been directly or indirectly concerned 
in the December rebellion. 

What he told you was the truth, exclaimed the count, 
slightly reassured. I am positive of this. Adhemar 
never told a falsehood in his life.''^ 

. ‘‘ I thought he was telling the truth, of course, or I 

should not have yielded. 

And why are you no longer of that opinion ?^^ 

Because I have since learned many things of which I 
was then ignorant. Monsieur Santelli was killed about 
eleven oYlock. Your cousin returned to the prison twenty 
minutes afterward, and he left it at half past ten. This 
fact alone, if it became known, would be enough to ruin 
him; and when I first heard of the crime, I should have 
suspected that it was committed by Monsieur de Mussidan, 
if Chancelade had not been arrested and brought to the 
prison that same night. I thought then, like every one 
else, that it was the son of your tenant who fired the fatal 


132 


THE PEETTY JAILEK. 


shot. He had his father ^s wrongs to avenge, and he was 
found with his gun in his hand. Now, I am satisfied of 
his innocence, and so are you, for you just told me so. 

^ ^ Still, that is no reason that my cousin should be guilty. 
The commissioner had many enemies, and Adhemar did 
not even know him. 

''You are by no means certain of that, nor am I; hut 
we are not his judges. The question I ask is this: If I 
should go and tell the prefect of police that Monsieur de 
Mussidmi was outside the prison walls at the time Monsieur 
Santelli was shot, do you think Monsieur^ de Mussidan 
would be left at liberty?'’^ 

" Suspicion might fall upon him, but I feel sure that he 
would be able to establish his innocence bevond anv nossi- 
ble doubt."" ^ 

" And I doubt it very much."" . 

" Besides, you can not denounce him. It would cost you 
too much."" 

" Why? I shall admit, of course, that I did very wrong 
to yield to the baron "s entreaties; but it is against Monsieur 
de Mussidan, and not against me that General Plancoet"s 
and my husband "s anger will be aroused. You see, on the 
contrary, that I really have nothing to fear."" 

" But if Adhemar should be arrested, you would certain- 
ly be regarded as his accomplice. "" 

" By no means. They will take me for an infatuated 
woman who could not resist the entreaties of the man she 
adored. But you may be reassured upon one point, I shall 
not denounce Monsieur de Mussidan."" 

" Then who will?"" 

" Who? Why, Ooralie Bernache, who will denounce him 
to save her lover. "" 

" Then you told her, I suppose, that Adhemar had left 
the prison at night?"" 

" How could I conceal the fact from her? She was my 
guest, and of course perceived the situation of affairs. I 
could not visit your cousin "s cell without her knowledge, 
and the night that Chancelade escaped Coralie saw Mon- 
sieur de Mussidan, and talked with him. He told you what 
occurred that night, and how Chancelade "s escape was 
managed, I suppose?"" 

" He gave me none of the particulars. "" 

" 1 must tell you, then, that Chancelade owed his escape 


the' pretty jailer. 


133 


entirely to your cousin. I felt no interest in him, and did 
not think of such a thing as facilitating his flight. I went 
to SO0 Adhemar that evenings and while I was with him, I 
told him that Chancelade h^ been arrested on the charge 
of having assassinated the commissioner. Adhemar was 
very indignant, and insisted that Chancelade should be al- 
lowed to leave the prison in the same way that he had 
done. I refused; he insisted, and as I still refused, he went 
so .far as to threaten to accuse himself of Monsieur Santelli^s 
murder. I told him that no one would believe him 
whereupon he proceeded to work up the case against himself, 
more cleverly than any prosecuting attorney could have 
done. I told him that his confession would not be believed 
•-—that every one would suppose that he was sacrificing 
himself to save a man more deeply compromised than him- 
self. But all this did no good. He refuted all my argu- 
ments one after another. For example, when I called his 
attention to the fact that he could not have shot the com- 
missioner, for the very good reason that he had no gun at 
his disposal, he replied: ' I shall tell where I procured the 
gun I used. 

Hid he tell you where he procured it?^^ inquired M. de 
Sigoules, eagerly. 

‘‘ISTo; but I am sure he would have done so if I had 
urged him a little; but I took good care not to do so, for 
fear that he would commit himself irretrievably, and I 
knew too much already. In like manner, when I reminded 
him that he had no just cause of complaint against Mon- 
sieur Santelli personally, he hastily replied : ^ I will tell 
how he wronged me, and why I so bitterly hated him.'’ Had 
you been in my place, what would you have thought of 
this language?^'’ • 

I should have thought it very extraordinary.^^ 

I concluded from it that he was the murderer, and ^ 
that he was determined to deliver himself up rather than 
allow an innocent man to be condemned. That is certain- 
ly what one would naturally suppose, knowing his char- 
acter.^'’ 

Yes,^^ murmured the old nobleman; that would be 
very like him; but why didn'’t he do it?^ - 

‘‘ Because it was not necessary. Chancelade was free. 
Every one thought that he would succeed in crossing the 
frontier. Even you believed that he had already done so, 


134 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 

and^that Mademoiselle Edmee and her brother had nothing 
more to fear. That being the case^ Monsieur de Mussidan 
had no reason for accusing himself. Unfortunately, the 
aspect of alfairs has changed, and Ohancelade has been re- 
arrested. If Monsieur de Mussidan is silent now. Chance- 
lade will be convicted. 

“ If Monsieur de Mussidan is silent, it will be because he 
has nothing to confess. 

I have too good an opinion of him to believe that. he 
will be silent. You see, count, that my wrongs do not 
prevent me from doing him justice. 

Ah! well, let him alone, then. He can then, at least, 
have the credit of denouncing himself for generosity's sake, 
and people will think the better of him for it. " 

Nothing would please me better. However great my 
just grievances against him may be, I have no desire to 
avenge them by denouncing him. But there is a person 
who does not feel the same scruples, and w^ho is only wait- 
ing to learn the result of my interview with you to denounce 
him. " 

You refer to Mademoiselle Bernache, I suppose?" 

Yes, monsieur. She has been nearly frantic ever since 
her lover's arrest, and she will not shrink from anything. " 

Then I am surprised that she has waited so long. " 

It is to me that Monsieur de Mussidan is indebted for 
this respite. I had no little difficulty, however, in persu- 
ading her to grant it. As soon as she left my house, she 
intended to go straight to the same commissioner of police 
that arrested her lover. " 

A respite!" repeated the venerable nobleman, bitterly. 

You speak as if Monsieur de Mussidan 's life and honor 
were at her mercy. " 

Such is, in fact, about the situation. If I do not let 
her know your answer to-day, she will proceed to act, and 
the injury she will do your cousin will be irreparable. But 
there is still time to prevent it. " 

^ My answer! And what answer does she expect from 
me? Hoes she expect that I am going to unite with her 
in accusing my cousin?" 

No, count; and she is not even anxious to have him 
arrested. All she cares for is to secure Ohancelade 's re- 
lease, and he would be released, if Monsieur de Mussidan 
would consent to confess his guiltt It will be sufficient if 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


135 


he will make a full confession in writing before starting for 
a foreign land. This document need not be submitted to 
the authorities until after his departure^ or even until after 
you had received news i^f his safe arrival in America. 

Then it is a sort of bargain that you come to propose 
blot to you, but to Monsieur de Mussidan. You will 
be kind enough to explain the situation to him, and then 
allow him to decide. 

Is that all?^"^ asked the old nobleman, grimly. Yes? 
Ah! well, be kind enough to say to the person who sent you 
that I shall fulfill no such commission. The accusation 
with which she threatens him is absurd, and he will have 
no trouble in defending himself, if she dares to carry this 
matter any further. He has already paid too dearly for 
the service he rendered Chancelade, and as to the latter, I 
feel much less interest m him since I have heard of his re- 
lations with Mademoiselle Bernache. 

So you abandon Adhemar to the fate that surely 
awaits him?^^ murmured Mme. Marteau, really touched. 

Adhemar has nothing to fear,^^ interrupted M. de Si- 
goules, angrily. ‘‘You must understand, madame, that no 
member of our family ever stooped to assassination. My 
cousin has been guilty of no wrong, except that of trusting 
you.-"^ 

Just then the door-knob turned, but as the count had 
slipped the bolt on the inside, the door did not open. 

Aurelie sprung up as pale as death. It seemed to her 
that it must be Adhemar who was tr3dng to enter. 

Then came a quick rap, and the count cried, impatiently: 

“ Who is there?^" 

Though he spoke very loud, the reply was not forthcom- 
ing, possibly because the visitor was not prepared for the 
question, possibly because he did not wish to give his name. 

But in a moment the rapping began again, this time 
considerably louder than before. 

The count repeated his question, raising his voice still 
higher, but to his great annoyance he repeated it in vain. 

He did not want to open the door until he knew with 
whom he would have to deal. It was, perhaps, Adhemar 
who was rapping, or, perhaps, Edmee; and M. de Sigoules 
was not disposed to usher either of them into Mme. Mar- 
teau ^s presence. 

Unfortunately, the apartment had but one outlet, so the 


136 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


old nobleman could not show his fair visitor out through 
another door; and yet the situation was becoming ridicu- 
lous, and must be terminated without further delay. 

^‘Madame/" he said, abruptly, ‘"I have no idea who 
this visitor is; but I hope you will kindly refrain from ad- 
dressing a word to him. 

'' Your visitor shall not even see me,^^ replied Aurelie, 
promptly, lowering her heavy veil. 

And if it should prove to be Adhemar, you will go 
away without speaking to him?^^ continued the count. 

I am not anxious to speak to him in your presence; 
consequently, I will go; but I will not promise not to wait 
for him in the street. He will doubtless understand the 
danger of refusing my proposal better than you do. 

As you please. I can not prevent you from seeing him 
in his own rooms or elsewhere. It is enough for me that 
it should not be here. 

All the while the knocking was going on in a most de- 
termined manner. 

I am going to open the door,^^ continued the count. 

Will you* be kind enough to wait in the embrasure of 
that window 

Mme. Marteau complied with his request, placing her- 
self with her back to the door. The count drew the bolt, 
and found himself face to face with an entire stranger. 

What do you want?'^ he roared, in a voice of thunder, 
so great Avas his exasperation. 

I want to speak to Monsieur de Mussidan,^^ replied 
the visitor, Avho looked like a tradesman. 

His rooms are on the third floor. 

I know that very Avell, sir; but he was not there, and I 
Avas told that I should probably find him here. 

The person that told you so is a fool; and I think it 
very strange that you should venture to make such a dis- 
turbance at my door. I have no time to waste, just now, 
and I must beg yoii to leave me in peace. 

Excuse me, sir, but this is the fifth time that I have 
been here. Monsieur de Mussidan is always absent, so I 
thought I might as well apply to his uncle. 

I am not his uncle. 

You are, at least, his nearest relative, and I should 
like to show you — 

I have no time to examine anything. Go to the devil 


THE PBETTY JAILER. 137 

exclaimed the count, tiying to shut the door in the face of 
his importunate visitor. 

But the stranger was too quick for him. He, too, had 
succeeded in getting a firm hold on the door, and without 
relaxing this hold, he said: 

Very well, sir. As Monsieur de Mussidan refuses to 
pay his debts, there is nothing left for me but to put my 
bill in the hands of a sheriff. This will teach me to give 
credit to the nobility of Perigord again. 

How dare you, knave cried M. de Sigoules, now furi- 
ously angry. 

I say that the baron is no better than a common 
swindler, and that if the others are like him, I may as well 
give up all idea of ever seeing my money. But I shall at 
least have the pleasure of causing him some annoyance, for 
I will give him no rest, even if I do not decide to enter a 
charge of obtaining goods upon false pretenses against 
him.^^ 

On hearing this threatening annomicement, the comit 
sprung forward, with the veiy evident mtention of seizing 
the insolent creditor by the throat; but he recollected in 
time that Mme. Marteau was present, and he did not want 
a scene before her. 

I ought to send you down-stairs faster than you came 
up,^^ he said; but I donT wish to lower myself by engag- 
ing in a quarrel with you; so, though I care nothing about 
your ridiculous threats, I order you to explain. How much 
does Monsieur de Mussidan owe you?^^ 

Fourteen hundred francs, and the interest on that 
amount for nine months. 

Very well. I understand; you loaned him that 
amount. You are a usurer, I suppose 

Ho, sir. I am a commission merchant, long and hon- 
orably known in the neighborhood of the Place de Paris. 
I purchased an article in England, in compliange with 
your nephew ^s orders, and delivered the same to him. He 
was to pay on delivery. He did not do so, and I was fool- 
ish enough to consent to wait; but I have a right to de- 
mand interest on the amount at the legal rate, six per 
cent./^ 

I am surprised that you waited nine months. You 
must have been pretty well acquainted with Monsieur de 
Mussidan. 


138 


THE PRETTY JAILER, 


“ Yes, sir. Before he became embarrassed financially, I 
furnished him with many articles of English manufacture, 
and he paid me promptly as long as his money lasted. 
When he left Pans, to escape his creditors, he told me that 
he would pay me when better days came; but the latter 
^ through the papers, that he 

had been arrested and imprisoned for some pohtical offense. 
Of course, that was no time for me to present my bill; 
but quite recently, hearing that he had been set at liberty’ 
and had returned to Paris, with one of his near relatives, 
the Count de Sigoules, whose heir he is, I thought myself 
justified— and so must you, sir— in presenting my claim.” 

This was said in a low tone that calmed the old noble- 
man, especially as the tradesman added: 

“ Besides, I do not ask that the bill shall be settled to- 
day, and if MonsiGur le ComtG will be so kind as to guar- 
antee, even verbally, the payment of Monsieur de Mussidan’s 
debt, I will wait as long as he desires. 

I am^^sure that sounds very fair,'^^ growled M. de Si- 
goules. ''All I can say now, however, is that I will show 
your bill to my cousin, and that if he acknowledges that he 
IS really your debtor to that amount, you shall be paid. 

That is quite sufficient, count. The bill is not receipt- 
ed. I will leave it with you, if you like, and will call asain 
in a few days. 

This conversation had taken place in the door-way of the 
apartrnent, and the fair Aurelie, though apparently en- 
gaged in looking out of the window, had not missed a word 
of it. 


M. de Sigoules was utterly indifferent to that fact, how- 
ever, as there was apparently no connection whatever be- 
tween this conversation and the murder; nor would it be 
likely to surprise Mme. Marteau in the least, for she could 
not be ignorant that Adhemar^s present possessions con- 
sisted principally of debts. 

Still, the count was anxious to put an end to it as soon 
as possible. 

The deuce take me, if I can imagine what kind of 
merchandise you sold to my cousin, he growled, while 
Adhemar^s creditor was searching his pocket-book for the 
bill in question. " Monsieur de Mussidan has never en- 
gaged in any business, and I supposed that he owed only 
his tailor or his horse-dealer. 


139 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 

“ I sold him a superb piece of fire-arms that I ordered 
from London at his request. I paid the manufacturer cash 
for it, and I assure you, sir, that I shall make nothing on 

the transaction.^" , o- i 

'' A piece of fire-arms!"" repeated M. de Sigoules, greatly 
astonished. What kind of a weapon was it? 

“ A rifie of an entirely new kind — a breech-loader ot ex- 
traordinary range and precision, a chef d^(BU we of Manton, 
the famous English gunsmith. "" 

The count involuntarily turned to Mme. Marteau, and 
saw that she was listening. 

Here is the bill,"" continued the merchant, and here 
is also the invoice of the London manufacturer. You will 
notice, count, that the weapon is minutely described, and 
that the number engraved upon the barrel is indicated. 1 
do not know whether the rifie is still in Monsieur de Mus- 
sidan"s possession or not, but even if he has disposed of it, 
it can be identified an 5 rwhere by the aid of this description. 

M. de Sigoules glanced hurriedly over the papers, then 
said, curtly: 

Will you leave them with me^ until to-morrow 

^ ^ Idost assuredly. " " 

“ Very well, then; call again to-morrow at fire o’clock. 
You shall he paid. ” , , 

The old nobleman closed the door, returned to Mme. 
Marteau ’s side, and asked, abruptly: 

“ You heard, did you not?” 

“ Yes, and understand,” replied Aureiie, whose eyes 
were ghttering with excitement. “ I was in Salviac, you 
recollect, when the weapon that killed Monsieur Santelh 
was discovered. ” ' , . j- 

“I ask forty-eight hours to come to an understanctog 
with Monsieur de Mussidan. Your friend will certainly 
consent to wait that length of time?” 

“ I will compel her to wait. ” ■, . 

“ Very well. You shall have my answer day after to- 
morrow. All I can promise you at this moment is that 
justice shall be done. ” 

“ I feel sure of that, and I will go,” said Aurehe. 

The old nobleman allowed her to depart, and then began 
to walk excitedly up and down the little drawing-room. 

Overwhelmed with consternation by the discovery he had 
just made, he vainly endeavored to decide what course to 


140 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


pursue, and even thought vaguely of blowing out the brains 
o± the relative who was sure to bring dishonor upon his 
name if he was allowed to live. Then he said to liimself 
that he could not condemn him without a hearing. 

Appearances were certainly against Adhemar, but ap- 
pearances are not always to be trusted. He could, perhaps 
explain why he had purchased this rifle, and tell what he 
had done with it. 

Was it really the weapon that had been found in the 
grounds of the club-house? M. de Sigoules compelled 
himself to doubt it, and he could hardly control his impa- 
tience to question his nephew, whom he was sure to see that 
day. 

a horse that the count 
tnougnt of purchasings and had promised to return before 
dinner to make his report. 

The dinner-hour was now fast approaching, and the old 
nobleman nerved himself for the trying interview which 
would perhaps he the last. 

About twenty minutes after Mme. Marteau^s departure, 
Adhemar entered, his color heightened by a long horse- 
back ride, his eyes sparkMng, and a bright smile upon his 

An excellent bargain, my dear cousin, he cried, on 
entering. The horse is a trifle older than I would wish, 
but he is of excellent stock, and will ^erve your purpose 
capitally. His owner hunted with him all last season, and 
he IS none the worse for it. He has plenty of spirit, and 
jumps capitally. In short, the animal pleases me so well 
that I should be delighted to show him oft* in the Bois until 
your departure. If they will take one hundred louis for 
him, you had better buy him.^'’ 

exactly six hundred francs more than one of 
Manton s English rifles costs, interrupted the count, with 
a searching glance at his relative. 

what I should call an abrupt transition. What 
possible connection do you see between a piece of fire-arms 
and a horse, which certainly is not lacking in fire, it is 
true. o ^ 

Cease tliis jesting, sir, and answer the questions I am 
about to put to you. 

Grood heavens! am I to be subjected to a cross-exami- 
nation. exclaimed the handsome Adhemar, still smiling. 


THE PKETTY JAILEE. 


141 


Yes. You are in the presence of your natural judge. 

A judge to whose authority I yield a ready assent. But 
of what am I accused 

'' A man just left here who called to collect a debt you 
contracted last year. ^ 

Is that all? Why^ my dear cousin, you can not be ig- 
norant that I have many creditors. I hope to pay them 
some day, and I assure you it is not my fault that this one 
applied to you. I will give him a sound thrashing for his 
impudence, if you will tell me his name. 

Look at this hill,^^ interrupted M. de Sigoules, handing 
it to his relative. 

Ah, ha!'" exclaimed the young man, after glancing 
over it; so it was that idiot Vogler — a man who sells any- 
thing and everything on commission. I have put money 
enough in his pocket, and I think he might have waited 
awhile; but his bill is correct. I do owe him fourteen hun- 
dred francs. " 

Then you admit that you purchased a rifle through 
him?" 

‘‘ Certainly. It was at a time when I was thinking 
strongly of going to hunt lions In Algiers. It would have 
been a good thing for me if I had persisted in the scheme. 
But I fell a victim to a fair lady's bright eyes, and before I 
regained my liberty, I had not money enough left to pur- 
chase my outfit. " 

What have you done with this rifle?" 

Adhemar changed countenance. He was at last begin- 
ning to understand the import of his relative's questions. 

‘”Why, I can not exactly say what has become of it," he 
stammered. My furniture was seized — and the rifle 
probably went with the rest of the wreck. " 

So you are obliged to lie already," said M. de Sigoules, 
sternly. ‘‘You, a Mussidan, and one of my race?" 

“ It is the first time any one told me that I lied," retort- 
ed Adhemar, quickly; “ and if the insult did not come 
from you — " 

“ Ho blustering, if you please, and answer me without 
prevarication. Where is this rifle? I know for a certainty 
that you kept it, and the falsehood to which you have just 
stooped is the more inexcusable because you know perfectly 
well what occurred in Salviac after Louis Chancelade's 
escape. There was found — in my presence, as I told you 


U2 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


duling the last visit that I paid you in the prison therp 

club-house grounds, a rifle manii- 
London gunsmith/'’ 

sold me ” to Piwe that it was the one Vogler 


said M. de Si- 


“ Again you try to deny the evidence?’ 
goules, mournfully. 

inr/^f • “/ “0 yourself that the 

importance to this discov- 
and the fact of my release is sufficient proof of it. 

request-and I almost regret 
f / Yoo ^ore released becluse 

everybody was ignorant of what I tiow know. ” 

know?” inquired Mussidan, who was 
becoming more and more agitated. 

oinn+p/’,?^ conimissioner was assas- 

wpfpp ’ ^ -1+ the prison half an hour before the crime 
ward^ returned half an hour after- 

“ Who told you so?” 

‘i jailer’s wife. She just left here. ” 
She denounced me, then?” 

“ les; and she will denoimce you to-morrow to the com- 
thLTTe w P®hce, if I do not prevent it. I should add 
that she was present during my interview with the man who 
sold you this weapon, and that she heard all. Do you at 
last comprehend that you are lost?” ^ 

telh?^^ suspects me of the murder of Monsieur San- 

, '' otherwise? You confessed to her 

yourself that you were the murderer. ” 

“ Never!” 

“ Is it necessary for me to recall the circumstances mider 
which you made this avowal? She came to tell you that 
Ohaiicelade was under arrest, and that the crime of killing 
the commissioner was imputed to him. You declared that 
the young man was innocent, and that she must allow him 

objected to assisting him in 
his flight, you declared that if she persisted in her refusal 
you would accuse yourself. That was a generous impulse’ 
which seems to indicate that every sqiark of honorable feel- 
mg was not dead m your breast. 


THE PKETTY JAILEE. 


143 


I pitied the fellow, and I do not repent of what I did, 
as he owes his liberty to me. 

He was free, but he is free no longer. Madame Mar- 
teau just informed me that he was arrested yesterday. 
Shall you allow him to be condemned 

‘‘ No, was the prompt reply. 

‘‘ Then you must not shrink from the inevitable. You 
must surrender yourself, if you do not want an innocent 
man to atone with his life for a crime you yourself com- 
mitted.-^^ 

Is this the ultimatum that Madame Marteau came to 
lU’opose to you?^^ 

‘^Yes; she announces it on behalf of a woman who has 
no reason to spare you, for she loves Louis Chancelade, and 
has no love for you. 

It is Aurelie^s pretended cousin, then? Ooralie Ber- 
nache. 

The same. She gives you forty-eight hours m which 
to make up your mind — 

To what?^^ 

To confess that you fired the fatal shot at Monsieur 
Santelli. She also requires you to leave France, after 
making a complete confession in writing, addressed to the 
chief of police. This is not to be given to him, however, 
until you are out of reach. You will be disgraced, but 
your life will be safe.^^ 

I am still foolish enough to prefer death to disgrace,'’^ 
replied Adhemar, bitterly. And if I should refuse, 
what then?^"^ 

You will be arrested at this, woman ^s instigation, and 
will lose both life and honor. 

‘‘I think not. 

“ How dare you say so? Are you of the opinion that a 
jiolitical assassination does not dishonor a gentleman ?^^ 

I might present numerous arguments in reply, but I 
will not contest the point. What would you advise me to 
do?^^ 

I advise you to die,^^ replied M. de Sigoules, sternly. 

That is to say, you advise me to blow my brains out. 
The advice is very sensible in some respects, and I have no 
particular objections to following it; but my death would 
not save Chancelade. 

It will save him if you leave the written confession 


144 


the pretty jailer. 


asked of you; and your disgrace will not be reflected upon 
your family I myself will take the letter to the magistrate 
With the investigation of Chancelade^’s case, and I 
shall ask to hush up an affair that has been virtually 
ended by the death of the real culprit. My old comrade^ 
General de Plancoet, will assist me, and between us we shall 
seciu-e mi acquittal, or rather a dismissal, of the charge 
against Chancelade. ’’ 

My dear cousin,” said Mussidan, who had lost none of 
condemn me to death, and I shall not 
mipeal from the sentence you have pronounced upon me- 
but you must permit me to make a few remarks before the 
penalty is carried into execution. I would like to ask you 
for example, whether you consider suicide the best remedy 
tor the unfortunate position in which I find myself?” 

‘t other,” replied M. de Sigoules, grayely. 

But you must recollect that it will be equiyalent to a 
confession of gmlt if I kill myself. You can hardly hope 
to deceiye any one, for eyerybody that knows me is well 
aware that I have no wish to die. 

‘‘It strikes me, sir, that you are afraid!” cried the old 
nobleman^ angrily. 

. know better than that; but if I mnst die I would 

rather be kdled than die by my own hand. 

“Be killed! ill Africa? You forget that you are no 
lonpr worthy to serye m the French army. ” 

‘ Oh! I don’t mean that! It would take too long. 

I here IS not much fighting done down there, and those 
who wish to be taken off are rarely the yietims. I know a 
more prompt and effectual way. I haye been challenged 
to fight a duel, and I know that my opponent is an expert 
m the use of all kinds of weapons. He will accept with 
pleasure the task of putting me out of the way. I shall 
defend myself for awhile; I shall eyen try to wound him 
slightly, but finally I shall allow myself to become his 
yictim, and tlm world will be well rid of me. I fight to- 
morrow, and it IS not necessaiy to say that I shall draw up 
a certificate of innocence for Chancelade before repairing 
to the place appointed for the meeting. & 

“ With whom are you going to fight?” inquired M. de 
bigoules, touched in spite of himself. 

“I will tell you in a moment, for I intend to beg you to 
be one of my seconds. ° 


THE PEETTY JAILEK. 


145 


I will not consent to act in that capacity until I know 
how you, a Mussidan, could have sunk so low as to assassi- 
nate a man, instead of attacking him openly 

You wish to know? Very well. I will tell you. Oh, 
I am not going to plead extenuating circumstances! I am 
only going to give you a plain statement of the facts, and 
exjdain the causes that produced them. 

‘'The causes repeated M. de Sigoules, mournfully. 
“ The imf ortunate . man was a political enemy, and if you 
had found yourself face to face with him when you were 
marchmg upon Salviac, at the head of the insurgents, I 
should not have blamed you in the least if you had shot 
him. But you did not know him. You had never even 
seen him, and he could not have injured you in any way, 
for you were arrested nearly two months before he came to 
Salviac. 

“ I had known him for seven years — known him for a 
scoundrel and a coward, for I struck him in the face pub- 
licly, and still he refused to fight with me. 

“ Where did all this happen?^^ 

y In Bordeaux. I struck him there, in the park, one 
Sunday, in the presence of more than a hundred persons. 

“ For what reason ?^^ 

“ Because he had basely maligned me to a young girl 
whom I loved, and whom I was about to marry.'’'’ 

“ Without my knowledge, then, as I never heard of the 
affair before. 

“ I was about to inform you of my intentions when this 
scandal occurred — the very day before I intended to return 
to Perigord to consult you.-’^ 

“ And the marriage was abandoned on account of this 
scandal 

“ Yes; slander, in this case, bore its usual fruits. It 
was this man who married J eanne Bastide. 

“ Bastide! Why, I have heard that name before. 

“ It was very generally known in Bordeaux at the time.^^ 

“ It was not there that I heard it. 

“ Louis Chancelade^s sister uttered it in your presence, 
and in mine, in this very room. She even had a good deal 
to say to us about Jeanne.'’'’ 

“ Good heavens !^^ exclaimed M. de Sigoules. “ Why, it 
must be the young widow who dined at the taUe d^Jiote with 


146 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


tliis 

“ Yes; and she came to Paris after his death, to ask for 
a pension, in view of the fact that she was the widow of 
that well-known official. This pension has been refused 
nei% however.'’^ 

1 up to the time of his 

death? ^ 

“No; they separated several years ago. Santelli reduced 
her to beggary, beat her, and made her life a hell. Do 
you think, now, that I had no cause to hate him?” 

You should have killed him in Bordeaux,” growled M. 
de Sigoules. ® 

I could not induce him to fight, so I finally came, not 
to forgive, but to forget him.” 

And you have ceased to care for the woman you once 
loved so well?” 

I ceased to care for her when she married, and since 
she became a widow — ” 

You have even less right to think of her. I under- 
stand. 

Besides, Edmee hinted to us that the lady was much 
pleased with her brother, and that her brother was equallv 
pleased with the lady,” said Adhemar. 

“She is, of course, ignorant of the fact that Ohancelade 
IS accused of her husband’s murder?” 

“ When she learns this, she will learn at the same time 
that he was unjustly accused. I am no longer to be con- 
sidered in the matter. I am no longer in the field; in fact, 

1 no longer exist, and when I am really dead, I hope von 
will not conceal the truth from her. ” 

The aged nobleman could not hear his cousin speak thus 
without being deeply nioyed, and tears sprung to his eyes. 

<£ m n said, in a voice husky with emotion. 

iell me what madness seized you when you suddenly re- 
solved to kill this man of whom you had ceased to think— 
as ^ou yourself just admitted?” 

“I swear that the deed was not premeditated. It was all 
the merest chance. It happened in this way: Madame 
Marteau dunng her visits to my cell, kept me informed 
about what was going on ui Salviac. It was through her 
that I learned of the arrival of the commissioner, who had 
been sent to intimidate the rebellious, and his name I 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


147 


did not doubt for an instant that this Santelli was the man 
I had known in Bordeaux. I knew that he had filled all 
sorts of positions^ and that he had enrolled himself in the 
ranks of the political police^ after the revolution of 1848. 
Aurelie told me that his first act on arriving in Salviac had 
been to send old Chancelade^, your tenant, into exile. 

Then anger took possession of you, and — 

It was indignation rather than anger. I said to my- 
self: ‘ It seems to be decreed that I shall always find this 
contemptible scoundrel in my path; ^ but I did not think of 
killing him. 

Then why did you ask that woman to allow you to 
leave the prison 

I will fell you. The day the news of the cony d^etat 
reached Salviac, I drew up a list of the peasants upon 
whom I felt that I could depend. I even wrote out a sort 
of plan of campaign. I was full of illusions; I fancied 
that we should take Salviac, and march straight on to 
Paris. 

It was agreed that the revolt should begin , in all the vil- 
lages on the same day, the fourth of December. I remained 
in Salviac, we were to meet at seven o^clockin the morning 
in the forest of Yalade, where I was to assume command. 
The evening before, in order to deceive the officials of Sal- 
viac, who seemed to be watching me, I had taken care to 
show myself at the club. I even played a rubber with the 
president and Monsieur Braconne. Between two games, 
the idea of concealing the papers I had upon my person 
occurred to me, in order that they might not be found, if 
any misfortune should befall me. I knew a place where I 
had already concealed the English rifle which I had con- 
cluded not to carry into the action, thinking it too heavy, 
so I went down into the garden and deposited my papers in 
one of the gardener ^s hot-beds under some of his gardening 
tools. You know the result of the insurrection. I was 
taken prisoner, and was consequently unable to regain pos- 
session of either my papers or my rifle. Of course, I felt 
very uneasy, for I said to myself that some day, the gar- 
dener would be sure to find my list. At last I ventured to 
confide my anxiety to Madame Marteau. 

And succeeded in persuading her to allow you to leave 
the prison 

“ She required a great deal of urging, but she finally 


148 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


consented^ and conducted me to her apartments, ivhere I 
leaped down into the street through the window. 

Swear to me that your sole object in going out was to 
destroy the papers. 

I swear it upon my honor as a gentleman. How could 
I possibly have known that the commissioner would go to 
the club-house that evening.^ Unfortunately, I met him. 
I had just slipped into the court-yard in front of the club- 
house, and was about making my way into the garden, when 
I heard footsteps approaching, and, hastily retreating into 
the shadow cast by the wall, I saw the sub-prefect enter 
the court-yard, talking loudly with Santelli, whom I in- 
stantly recognized by his conversation as well as by his ap- 
pearance. He strongly advocated sending all the prisoners 
into exile en masse^ and even regretted that thev could not 
all /be shot — 

Scoundrel murmured M. de Sigoules. 

It was then that a fierce, unreasoning anger took pos- 
session of me,^^ continued Mussidan. ‘'Ail my former 
hatred surged up again in my heart, and I felt a wild de- 
sire to spring at his throat and strangle him. He passed, 
without seeing me, and entered the club-house in company 
with the sub-prefect, who is no better than Santelli, for he 
agreed with his companion in everytliing. I rushed into 
the garden, and found my papers and rifie. I intended to 
go and throw them all into the Dronne, at a place where 
the river is very deep, and I was about to descend the hill, 
when I turned to see if any one was watching me. Santelli 
was standing at one of the brilliantly lighted windows; the 
sub-prefect was beside him, tod I judged, from his gest- 
ures, that he was calling the commissioner's attention to 
the beauties of the landscape. How can you explain the 
feeling I experienced at that moment? It seemed as if a 
huge billow of rage mounted to my brain. My rifle was 
on my shoulder; I did not even stop to think whether it 
was loaded or not, but, pointing it at my unsuspecting en- 
emy, I fired — 

And your bullet pierced Santelli "s heart. 

I did not see him fall. The instinct of self-preserva- 
tion asserted itself, and counseled me wisely. I understood, 
in an instant, that I would be pursued; and, instead of de- 
scending to the river-bank, I ran to my former liiding- 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


149 


place^ and threw into it the weapon for which I had no fur- 
ther use. The 23apers I kept, and burned in my cell. 

And you made your way back to the prison while the 
suh-j)refect and Mouleydier were hunting for you on the 
bank of the river, I suppose 

Yes; Madarne Marteau told me afterward what oc- 
curred. 8he had fastened a rope-ladder to her window- 
sill, and fifteen minutes after the shot was fired, I was safe 
in niy cell. This, my dear cousin, is a complete and truth- 
ful account of the whole unfortunate affair. 

'' I believe you, and I forgive you,"" said M. de Sigoules, 
extending his hand to his cousin, who pressed it warmly 
and exclaimed: 

Kow I am indifferent to everything else. I can die 
without a murmur."" 

But I will not have you die! You are only going into 
exile for awhile. That is quite pmiishment enough. Be- 
fore your departure, you must put your written confession 
in my hands, and then I will leave no means untried to se- 
cure a pardon for you. I will see the Prince-President, 
and tell him the whole truth. Plancoet, who has a great 
deal of infiuence at court, can easily obtain an audience for 
me, and it will he strange if betv/een us we can not succeed 
in arranging the matter satisfactorily. You will not he 
pursued, for the very good reason that the authorities will 
know that you would certainly be acquitted even if capt- 
ured, and that your acquittal would be a severe blow for 
the government that has numbered a scoundrel like this 
Santelli among its agents; so you see, you will get off with 
a short sojourn in some foreign land."" 

I hope I will. But how about Chancelade?"" 
Chancelade will be released,"" replied the count. 
will speak to the judge of instruction in Salviac. He is a 
very clever, kind-hearted man, and he will understand the 
situation perfectly; but if worst comes to worst, and he 
finds himself unable to stop the prosecution, you may rest 
assured that no jurors willing to condemn Chancelade can 
be found in the Department of the Dordogne."" 

y I think, with you, that he is sure to be acquitted,"" re- 
plied Adhemar; but Mademoiselle Bernache will not be 
content with this assurance. You just told me that she in- 
sists upon an immediate confession of my guilt so her lover 
can be sure of a speedy release. "" 


150 


THE EKETTY JAILEK. 


What business is it of hers?^^ growled M. de Sigoules. 

She may be in love with Chancelade^ hut Chancelade 
does not return her passion. His sister as much as told 
me that he was in love with Madame Santelli. 

Mademoiselle Bernache doesn^t know it if he is. If 
she did, she would become his bitterest enemy; but so long 
as she is deceived in regard to his real sentiments — 

I will undeceive her, then. Besides, we have forty- 
eight hours at our disposal; let us profit by them. You 
must write a full confession immediately without omitting 
anything you have just told me, or adding anything to it. 
You must intrust this confession to me, and, this evening, 
at midnight, you must take the train for Havre. I will 
give you two hundred louis to defray your expenses, and 
send you a letter of credit when you reach Hew York. 

I am deeply grateful for your kindness, hut you forget 
that I have a duel on my hands. 

Fudge! An absurd quarrel with some youth as hair- 
brained as yourself! It is not worth while for you to post- 
pone your departure for a trifle hke that.^^ 

You are very much mistaken. The difficulty is a seri- 
ous one, and can not be adjusted. I am to fight with 
Monsieur Marteau.^^ 

The former keeper of the Salviac prison? The detect- 
ive and spy! You are certainly mad, my dear cousin. A 
gentleman can not fight with such a man!'^^ 

I accepted his challenge. So there is no hope for it 
now. Besides, he was once a non-commissioned officer 
in the army.^^ 

A fine reason, that!^^ 

But he has an undoubted right to demand satisfaction. 
He knew that his wife had allowed me to leave the prison 
at night; consequently, it was in his power to have me ar- 
rested if he chose; and if he preferred to fight, it was 
doubtless because he was afraid of compromising his wife, 
and because he felt sure of killing me. If I disappoint him 
in this, he will not fail to inflict a speedy and terrible venge- 
ance upon me. He will report the facts to the men who 
employ him, and I shall be immediately arrested. You 
see, my dear cousin, that it is absolutely necessary for me 
to fight. 

Was this duel decided upon yesterday?^^ inquired the 
count. 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


151 


Yes; in front of the hotel. I surprised Marteau hiding 
in the passage-way of one of the houses opposite. He was 
waiting for Mademoiselle Chancelade to come out^ so he 
could follow her, and I compelled him to take himself 
Why didn^t you speak of this incident before 
Because I should have been obliged to enter into de- 
tails that I hoped to conceal from you; besides, I preferred 
to wafeuntil after Marteau had sent his seconds to see me."^^ 

“ Have they called on you yet?"’"’ 

Yes, this morning, just as I was starting out to try the 
horse you think of purchasing. Marteau sent two old 
troopers who are not at all distinguished in appearance, but 
who must be very brave men. Both were almost covered 
with medals. 

‘‘You should have sent them to me. What did you 
say to them?"’’^ 

“ I wished to spare you the disagreeable duty of receiv- 
ing them, and I took the liberty of telling them that you 
and one of your friends would serve as my seconds. 

“ CeHainly; but how about the conditions of the duel?^^ 

“ I accepted those proposed by Marteau. We are to meet 
to-morrow morning at nine o^clock in the moat at the forti- 
fications, between the Saint-0 uen and the Olignancourt 
gates. 

“ What weapons are to be used?^^ 

“ Sabers. I should have preferred the sword, but it 
seems that Marteau acted as fencing-master of his regiment. 
He is probably an adept in the use of the saber, too; but 
I can handle it tolerably well myself, and I flatter myself 
that I can disarm him.^^ 

“ Unless he runs you through the body first. 

“ If he kills me, that will end it all; but if, on the con- 
trary, I should send him to join his ancestors, I shall have 
an excellent excuse for my hasty departure for America. 
In either case, you must take charge of my affairs, and 
those of Chancelade. 

M. de Sigoules seemed thoughtful, and it was very evi- 
dent that he did not share the hopes of Adhemar who con- 
tinued, carelessly : 

“ There is nothing for you to do now but to find another 
second. 

“ I shall take Captain Ratibal, an old comrade. He is 
a man who will ask no questions. 


152 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


You accept, then?^^ 

Yes; though very reluctantly, I assure you; but I am 
obliged to admit that it seems to be the best way to end the 
matter, and that being the case, we had better lose no 
time. Go up to your room, and write your confession, 
dwelling upon Santelli^s antecedents, and calling attention 
to the fact that premeditation was entirely out of the ques- 
tion. You certainly did not leave the prison with trip inten- 
tion of killing him, as you could not have foreseen the 
meeting. I am going out in search of Eatibal, and hope to 
find him at home. 

Very well, cousin, answered Adhemar, cheerfully. 

We will dine together, will we not? And on your return 
I will submit to you a statement that will prove satisfac- 
tory, I trust. 

The two gentlemen exchanged a cordial pressure of the 
hand, and as Adhemar started for his room, the count rang 
to order a carriage. 

Five minutes afterward he was rolling swiftly along to- 
ward Montmartre, and a quarter of an hour later, he alight- 
ed at the door of Mme. Gouverneur^'s boarding-house. 

The captain had not yet returned home, and the count, 
Avhile promenading the garden, waiting for him, was not a 
little surprised, at a turn in the path, to find himself face 
to face with his former gamekeeper. 

What are you doing here, you rascal M. de Sigoules 
demanded, -harshly. 

“ I am here by Mademoiselle Ohancelade^s permission,^'’ 
rejfiied Jacques, calmly. If you doubt it, you have only 
to ask her. She is coming now.-’'’ 

‘‘ Do you know what has happened to Ohancelade?^^ 

Yes; he was arrested yesterday. 

And doiiT you fear that you Avill meet with a similar 
fate?^^ ; 

Oh! the people who have arrested him will not 
trouble themselves about me.^^ 

Don'’t be too sure of that. Tell me, is it really true 
that you hope to marry Edmee?^^ 

We are betrothed; but as long as her brother is in 
prison — '’^ 

I shall soon have him out of prison. 

‘‘ If you wiU do that, there is nothing that I will not do 
for you. I will obey you as a dog obeys his master.'’^ 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 153 

I shall only ask you to adopt an honest calling, so your 
wife need not be ashamed of you/-^ 

There is Edmee now!^^ exclaimed Jacques, pointing 
to the end of the walk. 

The count turned hastily, and saw Mile. Chancelade a23- 
proaching on the arm of her new friend, so he advanced to 
meet them hat in hand. 

In a few days your brother will be free, my dear Ed- 
mee,^^ he said, kindly; for I shall be able to prove that 
it was not he who killed Monsieur Santelli.^^ 

Then, turning to the young widow, he added: 

I am happy to be able to assure you that he is innocent 
of this murder, madame. 

The words were accompanied with such a meaning look 
that Mme. Santelli blushed, and Edmee seemed consider- 
ably surprised. 

Good!^^ thought the old nobleman; she is still ig- 
norant of the real name of her traveling-companion; and it 
is more than probable that Chancelade is no wiser. So 
much the better! There will be plenty soon enough to tell 
them when Adhemar reaches America. 

We shall bless and revere you while your life lasts, 
exclaimed the young girl, overwhelmed with joy. 

Even that scapegrace, Jacques asked M. de Si- 
goules, with a half smile. 

You forgive him, then?^^ 

^^What! for throwing away the gamekeeper ^s badge I 
fastened upon his arm? Yes, certainly. He is worthy of 
a better position, and if he desires to become my tenant, 
there is nothing to prevent him from succeeding your fa- 
ther. I would rather have seen him a soldier, but he would 
be obliged to leave the country, and I suppose he is anxious 
to remain here now. My farm-house is only fit for a mar- 
ried man; so there will be room for another family in your 
Salviac house, added the count, with another sly glance at 
the commissioner's widow. 

“ My -father will not behold our happiness, murmured 
Edmee, sadly. 

Who knows? People return from everywhere nowa- 
days — -even from Guiana. I shall ask for his pardon, and I 
by no means despair of obtaining it. 

Count, said Mme. Santelli, with deep emotion, you 
seem to be able to read all hearts, and you must have di- 


154 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


vined that the hour is not yet come for me to express my 
gratitude/'’ 

“ It will soon come^ my dear madame. In the mean- 
time^ will you tell me Avhere and how poor Louis was ar- 
rested 

“ He was arrested only a short distance from here. I 
was with him at the time He was betrayed by a woman. 

By the same woman who spent sey oral days with the 
jailer ^s wife at Salviac/'’ added Edmee. 

That is strange!^'’ murmured M. de Sigoules, thought- 
fully. 

He could not understand why Mile. Bernache was now 
endeavoring to save the man she had betrayed^ but he pru- 
dently kept his thoughts to himself. 

Just then he saw his friend^ the captain, enter the garden, 
and he w^as anxious to consult him without delay in regard 
to the duel that was to take place on the morrow. 

I must leave you, my dear child, and you, madame, 
he said, hastily. Here comes my old comrade, Eatibal, 
and I must see him immediately. I shall call on you again 
in the course of two or three days, and I shall have some 
good news for you, I hope. Trust me until then. And 
you, my boy, must keep your eyes open, and try not to get 
caught, he added, pointing to Jacques. 

Then, turning upon his heel, he left them without fur- 
ther ceremony. 


CHAPTEE VI. 

Ih February, the sun is extremely dilatory about making 
its appearance, and very frequently does not show itself at 
all to the residents of Paris. 

This was certainly the case on the morning appointed for 
the duel upon which the fate of so many persons depended. 

At nine o^clock, a heavy fog still covered the Plain 
Saint Denis with a gray mantle, and lay in dense masses in 
the fosses of the fortifications. 

One could not see ten yards ahead of one, and the huck- 
, sters who were returning from market did not dare to trot 
their horses, but proceeded at a snaiPs pace along the road 
leading from the Porte Saint Ouen, though the the cold. 


THE PKETTY JAILEB. 


155 


damp atmosphere chilled them to the very marrow of their 
bones. 

At that time there were no station-houses in this locality^ 
for the city limits were still hounded by the old wall; con- 
sequently, one might fight in the fosses without any fear of 
being disturbed, and duels were correspondingly frequent 
there, it being a much more convenient place than the 
forests of Yincennes or Meudon. 

Adhemar de Mussidan and his seconds left the Hotel du 
Helder in a carriage, and reached the Porte de Saint Ouen 
at quarter of nine. Leaving the carriage there, they 
started on foot for the place of meeting which had not been 
designated in a very explicit manner, as both parties had 
merely agreed that the duel should take place somewhere 
between the Porte de Saint Ouen and the Porte de Clignan- 
court. Consequently, the baron and his friends only had 
to follow the outer edge of the fosse mitil they found their 
opponents. 

Ratibal, who had served in a cavalry regiment, brought 
two sabers, selected with great care — two sabers of equal 
length and weight, which he carried hi a green baize bag 
under his arm. 

He had the tact to walk on ahead, in order to enable the 
Count de Sigoules to hold a last private conversation with 
his relative, and he had already given proofs of his discre- 
tion by not inquiring into the causes of the duel. In short, 
the old soldier was a model second. 

The count and his cousin had very little to say to each 
other, however, for they had dined together the evening be- 
fore, and all matters connected with this hostile meeting 
had been thoroughly discussed, and every contingency pro- 
vided for. 

Adhemar had in his pocket a sum of money that would 
more than suffice to take him to America in case he should 
kill Marteau, and escape without serious injury; but if, on 
the contrary, Adhemar should prove the victim, M. de Si- 
goules was in possession of his last will and testament — a 
very explicit statement that completely exculpated Chance- 
lade, with proofs to support it in the shape of a description 
of the rifie now in the hands of the clerk of the Salviac 
court, and the bill of the commission merchant who had 
sold the weapon to the baron, 

M. de Mussidan walked briskly along, with liis hands in 


156 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


liis overcoat-pockets, and a cigar in his mouth, as indiffer- 
ent, and even gayer than ever. He was not ill-pleased at 
the idea of risking his life to terminate an intolerable state 
of things, and also to atone for an act that was closely akin 
to a crime. 

M. de Sigoules, on the contrary, was deeply affected. 
He had forgiven his young cousin; he almost excused him, 
in fact, and his heart sunk at the thought that his last re- 
maining relative might soon fall beneath the sword of a 
coarse and brutal plebeian. The ■ old nobleman, who feared 
nothing in this world, shrunk with terror from the prospect 
of an extinction of his race. 

He had had good cause to complain of Adhemar, hut he 
had always loved him tenderly, and had fully intended to 
leave him all his property on condition that he would add 
the name of Sigoules to that of Mussidan. 

“ You seem to be in very good spirits this morning, ” 
he remarked, suddenly. 

“Excellent, my dear cousin,” replied Adhemar, 
blithely. “ I slept like a dormouse last night, regaled myself 
with a huge cup of coffee this morning, and then amused 
myself by practicing with my cane several very clever 
thrusts that a cuirassier of my acquiantance once taught 
me. Monsieur Marteau is destined to have a hard time of 
it. I am beginning to believe that it is my destiny to make 
happy widows,” he added, laughing. “ Jeanne, Bastide is 
indebted to me for her liberty, and I thhik that in the 
course of an hour or two the fair Aurelie will be free to 
marry a more attractive man than the boor from whom I 
am about to deliver her. •” 

“You talk like a Gascon — ” 

“ All natives of Perigord are half Gascon, my dear 
cousin. ” 

“ Your remarks seem to me very much out of place, and 
you choose your time for jesting very badly. You should 
reflect carefully, and if you have any fui’ther requests to 
make of me, now is the time. ” 

“ I haven’t one. We settled everything last night, you 
recollect, and you were kind enough to promise to pay my 
debts. 

“ You will be quite resigned, then, if misfortune should . 
befall you?” 

“To speak frankly, I shall not regret parting with any 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


157 


one but you, for I have never really loved any one else. My 
love for Jeanne Bastide was only a fleeting passion, kindled 
by youth, and soon extinguished by absence. As for San- 
telli, he had wronged, me so deeply that I feel no remorse. 
It would have been better, perhaps, if I had not killed 
him, but he got only his deserts.'’^ 

M. de Sigoules insisted no further; he could not hope to 
convert this confirmed worldling in a moment. 

Do you know what I think continued Mussidan. 

I begin to suspect that my Lord Marteau is going to dis- 
appoint us. He has changed his mind, perhaps, since he 
sent his seconds to me. This much is certain : we have 
been walking ten minutes or more, and I see no signs of 
the fair Aurelie^s husband. 

He is probably waiting for us further on. 

I hope so, for I do not care to repeat this promenade, 
this cold weather, and with this fog cutting one like a knife. 
But it would be even less pleasant to have this amiable 
personage bring some officers of pohce in the capacity of 
seconds, and in this way effect my arrest. 

I scarcely know which denoue2?ien^ I should prefer, 
muttered the count. But no; Eatibal has stopped. He 
has caught sight of your opponent and his seconds, prob- 
ably, 

‘‘The deuce take me if I can see them!^^ growled 
Mussidan. “ It is as much as I can do to see him. 

“He is beckoning tons. Let us quicken our pace,^^ 
remarked the count. 

In a minute more they had overtaken the captain, who 
said to them : 

“ The gentlemen are there, at the bottom of the fosse, 
and I think they are getting impatient. 

“ It is their own fault. Why did they go so far?^^ re- 
plied Mussidan. 

“ I suppose they must have left the city by the Clignan- 
court gate, and that they chose that particular place because 
a path leads down into the fosse there. 

“ Very true. Everywhere else the bank is nearly per- 
pendicular, while here there is a tolerably good path. 

EatibaLs vision had not deceived him. 

Three men were really pacing to and fro at the foot of 
the escarpe, though their forms were but dimly visible 
through the fog. 


158 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


Adhemar and his friends descended into the moat in In- 
dian file, the captain leading the way, and a moment later 
they found themselves in the presence of the enemy. 

Pierre Marteau, in a coat buttoned to the chin, wore an 
expression that Adhemar had never seen upon his face be- 
fore. His drawn features, compressed lips, glittering eyes, 
and frowning brow, all indicated that he was consumed 
with anger and hatred. He had never been a handsome 
man, but that day he was positively frightful. 

His companions had the hard faces of old troopers, de- 
graded by the excessive use of strong liquors. 

The Count de Sigoules had never before found himself 
in such low company, though he had fought at least twenty 
duels in his day. 

These men, too, had taken the precaution to bring a pair 
of sabers, which they had already unsheathed, in order that 
there might be no loss of time. 

An interchange of cold bows took place, and then the 
party began to make the final preparation for the combat. 

Eatabal produced his weapons, and the two pairs were 
found to be exactly alike. The choice of weapons was de- 
cided by throwing a silver coin in the air, and luck favored 
M. de Mussidan, who, probably out of bravado, decided to 
use the sabers brought by his opponent. 

The conditions had been decided upon in advance, but a 
tall ogre with a red face, who was one of Marteau ^s sec- 
onds, felt called upon to say: 

It is understood I suppose, that the duel will go on 
until one of the combatants is killed or fatally wounded. 
We did not come here to inflict a scratch or two, and after- 
ward breakfast together in peace. 

You need have no fear of that,^*’ replied Adhemar, in 
his blandest voice. ‘‘The duel will continue until one of 
us is fit only for the grave. 

“ Coats off, gentlemen, commanded the comit, in order 
to put an end to this intemperate conversation. 

Mussidan, without a word, divested himself of his over- 
coat, coat, and vest, tightened the waistband of his trous- 
ers, rolled up his shirty-sleeves, took one of the sabers pre- 
sented to liim, stuck the point of it into the greensward and 
waited. 

M. de Sigoules could not help admiring his relative '’s 
bearing under arms; an old decorated veteran could not 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


159 

have home himself more gallantly in the presence of the 
enemy. 

Marteau, much less prepossessing in appearance, but 
equally composed, took his weapon and made a few passes 
as il desiring to familiarize himself with it. 

It is perfectly miderstood that straight thrusts are per- 
missible, I suppose he said, in a loud voice. 

Anything is permissible, except giving ground,"" re- 
plied Mussidan. -r © & & 

The seconds placed the two opponents, and the captain 
was about to give the signal, when one of the ex-Tailer"s 
mends exclaimed: 

One moment, gentlemen!"" 

P^<^P<^se favoring us with a speech similar to 
that which the regimental master-of-arms makes to con- 
scripts who appear before him for the first time. cried 
Adhemar, impatiently. 

^y young gentleman. I only wish to call 

your attention to the fact that some one is watching us. "" 

A^iemar and the others looked up, and fancied they 
could distinguish a man"s form on the edge of the slope 
they had just descended. ^ 

What of it.^"" asked M. de Mussidan. 

•J.1 tlii? person may have come here 

vvith the intention of interfering as soon as the fun begins. 

I think we had better go a little further on, perhaps. ” 

It would be gust the same if we did, and I have tramped 
tar enough already. Let us end it here. ’’ 

1 as the fog seems about to lift,” added Eati- 

3 al, and m that case, any persons who may happen to 
Je about will see us. ” , .1 r'r 

^ “Besides, the man has gone away,” remarked M. de 
likely to see any more of him. "" 

Ihe person referred to had, in fact, disappeared, and 
•oSlicT^^^^ further reason for postponing the 

Are you ready?"" asked Eatibal. 

,, replied both opponents in the same breath. 

JSlow, gentlemen."" 

Adhemar and his antagonist both took two steps forward 
M their blades crossed. Fencing with the saber is a verv 
imcult accomplishment to acquire. The passes are varied 
nci mtricate, and it may be either dangerous, or almost 


160 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


harmless, according to the will of the seconds and the mood 
of the combatants. 

Between dragoons, when the quarrel is a trivial one, no 
great harm is generally done; and upon the infliction of 
the first scratch, military honor is declared satisfied. 

But it is a very different thing when the quarrel is be- 
tween men who really desire to kill one another, and this 
time each of the opponents had sworn to exterminate the 
other. 

The very manner in which Marteau protected himself 
from his antagonist showed that he was an expert in the 
use of the weapon. 

He was at a slight disadvantage on account of his height, 
for he was much shorter than Adhemar, and he was con- 
sequently obliged to guard against blows from above. 

With his forearm covering his head, he seemed resolved 
to await the attack, ready to parry each thrust on the in- 
stant, and to take advantage of his opponent's first blunder 
to make a straight lunge at him. 

He did not have to wait long. 

M. de Mussidan began the combat with such a quick and 
powerful whirl of his saber that Marteau had all that he 
could do to save his skull, and was unable to avoid a slight 
wound on the shoulder. 

His shirt being stained with blood, Eatibal called out to 
the combatants to stop; hut the infuriated husband paid 
no attention to the injunction, and, seizing the moment 
when Adhemar half paused with the intention of obeying 
the order, he attacked him in turn, but attacked him 
openly and directly. 

Adhemar was not sorry, however, for he was a good 
swordsman, and the first attack had irritated him a little. 

It was now only a question of skill, for they began a 
series of feints, disengagements, less rapid than with the 
sword, on account of the greater weight and width of the 
blades, resounding parades, ringing out like the sound of a 
hammer striking upon an anvil, and quick thrusts invaria- 
bly met by the opposing weapon of the other antagonist. 

And all this was without any result whatever, for neither 
of the opponents possessed any marked superiority over the 
other. 

In a protracted contest like this, even the most robust 
finally become weary, and the least nervous irritable. 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


161 


Adhemar, exasperated by the sight of his antagonist's 
coarse and distorted face, resolved to put an end to the 
combat; and, rushing suddenly upon his opponent with sa- 
ber lifted high ^ in the air, he aimed a powerful blow at 
Marteau^’s head just as his enemy made a savage lunge at 
his breast. 

It was all done so quickly that the seconds only realized 
it on seeing both men fall. 

Mussidan fell straight backward, as if he had been over- 
turned by a cannon-ball. 

Pierre Marteau staggered, waved his arms wildly, 
dropped his saber, and then fell forward upon his face like 
an ox stunned by a butcher's mallet. 

His seconds attempted to raise him, while M. de Sigoules 
ran to his unfortunate relative who gave no further signs 
of life. 

The two ojoponents had died almost simultaneously. 

Marteau 's saber had j)ierced Adhemar's heart, and Ad- 
Iiemar's blade had cleft open Marteau 's skull, leaving the 
brain exposed. 

‘'It is all over," murmured the captain, trying to lift 
the count, who had thrown himself upon his knees beside 
the body of his loved one. 

The friends of the ex- jailer evinced much less emotion; 
nor did they linger to bestow any unnecessary attention 
upon their former comrade. 

" Gentlemen, everything was conducted in the prescribed 
way," remarked the older of the two men. “You can 
testify to that fact, with us, I presume, if the authorities 
should take it into their heads to examine us. Shall I go 
for the gendarmes'^ I know where to find the nearest bar- 
racks." 

“Do as you like, " replied Eatibal. “I am going to 
take my friend away. He can not remain here with the 
body of his relative. " 

Some one must stay here, otherwise it will be supposed 
that this was a double murder. My comrade can remain 
to guard the bodies while I go to simimon the gendarmes 
or the first policeman I happen to meet." 

“ Very well. You know where I live. Monsieur de 
Sigoules is stopping at the Hotel du Helder. We shall 
hold ourselves at your disposal, and I shall expect to see 
you before evening. " 

6-2d half. 


162 


THE PKETTY JAILER. 


The count allowed himself to be led a'way without i 
word. Deep sorrows are mute. He reascended the bank, 
leaning on the captain^s arm, and when they reached the 
top, they found themselves face to face with Jacques. 

What are you doing here?^^ inquired the old noble- 
man, sternly. 

I knew that your cousin was going to fight this morn- 
ing. No one told me so; but I guessed as much yesterday, 
when you came to see the captain, and I concealed niyseli 
in order to overhear your arrangements. I wished to b( 
the first to inform some one who shall be nameless, and ] 
know all — 

Ah! well, go and tell Edmee that Adhemar de Mussi- 
dan is dead, and that his death saves Ohancelade, for he 
left in. my keeping written proofs of the innocence of youi 
prospective brother-in-law. Marry, and try to be happy. 
There is nothing left for me now but to creep into a come] 
and die like an old worn-out horse. 

“You forget that you will be the object of our tenderesi 
love and devotion. . 

The count passed on without replying. Jacques dareci 
not follow him, but proceeded toward the Porte de Clig- 
nancourt, in order to return to Paris by a different road. 

He had no cause to lament the death of M. de Mussidan, 
whom he scarcely knew, and he could but rejoice at thi 
death of Marteau, whom he cordially hated. He wa.^ 
chiefly interested, of course, in the possible consequence oi 
this duel, so far as Louis Ohancelade and Edmee were con- 
cerned. 

M. de Sigoules had just reassured him on this point; but 
how the old nobleman could be in a position to prove that 
it was not Ohancelade who killed the commissioner was i] 
mystery to him. 

He had a slight suspicion that the real murderer might 
be M. de Mussidan, as the jailer^s wife had allowed that 
nobleman to leave the prison at night. He also suspected 
that the lady in question was the cause of the duel in wliich 
both principals had met their death; but the whole affair 
was enshrouded in so much mystery that he felt very anx- 
ious to obtain further information on several points before 
he saw Edmee again, and the idea of paying Ooralie Ber- 
naciie a visit occurred to him. 

He had met her immediately after the arrest of Louis. 


tHE PRETTY JAILER. 


163 


It was slie who had first informed him of it, and told him 
” liad played in the affair, and she 

probably knew much more than she had told him on that 
occasioii. 

felt sure of being cordially received, as she had 
once offered to conceal him in her apartments, and she 
ceitanily would not refuse to enlighten him if she had it in 
iier power to do so. 

to eagerly awaiting his return 

to Mme. Gouyemeur's, but he passed Montmartre without 
directed his steps straight toward the Rue 

knowing that her mistress had received 
this gentleman on his first visit, promptly ushered him into 

nA!.,.o the two ladies. Mile. 

tp!„ tolerably well, and Mme. Mar- 

^"^1 never seen before, but whom he recog- 
nizM from Chancelade s description. ° 

to W'- ’’f delight, introduced him 

to liCT fmr friend, and then said; eagerly: 

two ,1a, ^ ^een expecting you 

two days. What news do you bring me?’' ^ ^ ^ 

I have just seen the Count de kgoules,” renlied 
Jacques, and he tells me that Louis is saved. ” ^ 

feaved! exclaimed Coralie. “ And how?” 
m«r,t • Monsieur de Mussidan has left a state- 

ment in which he confesses that it was he who killed the 
commissioner, ” replied Jacques. 

£, /-'a I statement?” repeated Mme. Marteau 

Gan it be that he has left the country?” 

He is dead, madame. Your husband killed him. ” 

«•,» K'fSj'wSotaf ““ "‘■“"e- “ 

‘‘ They hpe fought, then?” 

suspected it, as she had done 
eveijdhmg m her power to bring about this duel. 

,, An hour ago,” replied Jacques, coldly. 

W ere you present?” 

I witnessed the whole affair. They both fell af fho 
same instant.” uoui leii at tne 

“ What! Marteau, too?” 

skull5^^‘ Mussidan split his adversary’s 


164 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


You are a widow exclaimed Coralie, turning to her 
friend^ who sat as if petrified; ‘‘you are free! and the man 
I love will soon be at liberty. What does all the rest mat- 
ter to us?^^ . 

This was horrible; and Jacques, whose indignation was 
now thoroughly aroused, asked, dryly: 

“ Is it to Ohancelade that you refer?'" 

“You know perfectly well that it is." 

“I knew that you were in love with him; but I feel 
quite sure that you will never see him again. If he should 
be released— as I feel sure that he will be— he will soon 
marry." 

“ Marry! Whom does he intend to marry 

“ I am not authorized to tell you. " 

“ The woman I saw at his house the day he was arrested 

“ Very possibly." i , t i n 

“ Ah, the wretch! She escaped me that day, but I shall 
meet her again; and when I do, I will certainly burn her 
eyes out with vitriol. " 

“ I advise you not to try it. " Tin 

“ They may put me in prison for it, but I don t care. 
When the trial comes oft*, I am sure to be acquitted. I 
shall have all the women on- my side." 

“ I think not, when they know that it was you wlio be- 
trayed Ohancelade to the poHce. " 

“ It is false*!" 

“ Spare yourself the trouble of telling a falsehood. 
Ohancelade told the whole story to a person who lepeated 
it to me; and Ohancelade, even if he shall not marry that 
lady, would never consent to see you again. You betrayed 
him; you delivered him up to the blood-hounds who were in 
pursuit of him, so everything is at an eiid between you and 
him. Oh! I know that you are sorry for what you did, 
and that you afterward turned against Monsieur de Mussi- 
dan. I know^ that it was you wdio brought about the duel 
in which two men met their death, but that is another 
reason why Ohancelade will never forgive you. x* i -xi 

Ooralie hung her head beneath this avalanche ot bittei 
truths, for she was beginning to reahze the position in which 
she had placed herself. She could not hear to admit lier 
defeat, hut the bandage was falling from her eyes— the 
bandage that passion had placed there— -and with that fickle- 
ness Avhich Avas such a prominent trait in her character, she 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


165 


was already beginning to ask herself how she could ever 
have allowed anger to make her commit such terrible 
blimders. 

Two men dead through her wrong-doing, and her own 
unfortunate passion immediately doomed to a similar fate: 
this was certainly enough to destroy her illusions, and bring 
her back to the stern realities of life. 

And Jacques, by speaking to her in this stern and un- 
compromising manner, had unconsciously killed two birds 
with one stone, so to speak. 

The fair Aurelie was overwhelmed with consternation. 
She, too, could now measure the depths of the abyss into 
which she had voluntarily thrown herself. 

She was now alone in the world; and she bitterly re- 
proached herself for having sent Adhemar de Mussidan to 
his death. She even thought with regret of Pierre Mar- 
teau — ^the indulgent husband who had so patiently submit- 
ted to her caprices. It is true that she still enjoyed the 
favor of General de Plancoet, but that might fail her at 
any moment, particularly if the facts connected with the 
late tragedy should come to his ears. 

Jacques was beginning to repent of having come here in 
search of information which he could easily have dispensed 
with, while two noble-hearted women were anxiously wait- 
ing for him. He realized, now, when it was too late, that 
he had yielded to a foolish impulse, and he resolved to 
hasten away, and leave these two heartless creatures to con- 
sole themselves as best they could. 

I suppose there is nothing more that you wish to say 
to me?^^ he asked. 

Neither lady made any reply, and despairing of ex- 
torting any further information, he took his leave, and 
they made no attempt to detain him. 

In fact, they probably preferred to discuss the conse- 
quences of this twofold catastrophe in private. 

Jacques, being an untiring walker, now directed his steps 
toward the Eue des Abbesses, where he found Edmee and 
Jeanne seated side by side on a bench in Mme. Gouver- 
neur^s garden. 

They, too, had a suspicion that their fate was to be de- 
cided that morning. Jacques had not explained the con- 
dition of affairs very clearly, but he intimated that M. de 
Sigoules had called the evening before to confer with his 


166 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


old comrade upon important matters indirectly connected 
with them. 

He now told them what had occurred that mornings hut 
though he carefully omitted all harrowing details — knowing 
the tender hearts of his auditors— they no sooner leariuMl 
that both principals were dead than they burst into tears. 

Jacques could not help comparing this sincere grief with 
the selfishness of the women he h^ just left. They had 
not even wept — ^those heartless creatures, one of whom had 
lost a husband that the other had condemned to death, 
merely to gratify a feeling of personal spite. 

Our unsophisticated friend Jacques, who had spent most 
of his life in the forest, was beginning to gain some insight 
into the real character of fashionable Parisiennes, whom 
Barriere has mistakenly styled women of marble, for 
they have hearts, but the hearts are made of straw and 
clay. The straw takes fire sometimes, but the clay re- 
mains, for the fierce but short-lived flame only hardens it. 
And Jacques solemnly resolved to profit by the lesson. 

An unnecessary resolve, for this life of adventure was over 
for him, and he did not regret it. 

The truest happiness, that which consists of a quiet do- 
mestic life with the woman one loves, was now within his 
reach. 

Edmee could not believe it. She still doubted the justice 
of the officials who could alone establish and proclaim 
Louis Chancelade^s innocence. 

Jacques had a great deal of difficulty in reviving their 
courage and in persuading them that Adhemar de Mussi- 
dan^s confession would not be disputed. 

He finally succeeded, and the day did not pass before 
good news arrived to confirm his predictions. 

Eatibal returned about two o^clock. The count,^who no 
longer had any reason for desiring to conceal the truth 
from him, had explamed the whole situation, and the cap- 
tain announced that M. de Sigoules had gone straight to 
work to set matters right. 

Overcoming liis grief, the old nobleman had left Eatibal 
to go to the house of General de Plancoet, who certainly 
would not refuse to secure him an immediate audience with 
the Prince-President and future emperor, who, in all prob- 
ability, would gladly avail himself of this opportunity to 
atone for the' undue severity of one of his agents. 


THE PEETTY JAILEE. 


167 


And if the result of this audience was what he hoped M 
de bigonles intended to come and announce the fact to the 
sister of the prisoner. 

Mme. Santelli felt that she was de troi), and went up to 
her room. Eatibal, who was expecting a visit from Mar- 
teau s seconds, went out on the pavement to smoke his 
pipe, and waylay the old troopers, whose rough manners 
and appearance would scandalize Mme. Gouverneiir 
But Edmee remained in the garden with Jacques, and 
the hours dragged heavily until the count appeared before 
them, looking at least ten years older, bowed with grief 
and leaning heavily upon his cane for support. ° 

ih 1 j to meet him, and he said to them in a voice 
txiat laltered with emotion: 

‘‘Weep no longer; and do not try to express your sym- 
pathy. I sha 1 never recover from the blow I have^re- 
ceived; but I should like to make some one happy before I 
i( Louis Chancelade again/'’ 

What, he is free.^""" exclaimed Edmee, forgetting in 
the excess ol her ;oy the grief of this old man who had lust 
race perish before his eyes. 

Eot yet. He will be transferred to Salviac, where the 
inve^igation began, but he will not remain in prison long 
for the magistrate will have in his hands conclusive proofs 
of the prisoner’s innocence. Nor will he be tried on any 
other charge. I have received an assurance of that. No 
one will ask him where he was the evening' the commis- 
sioner was killed. I have even obtained a promise that his 
father shall be pardoned.” ms 

Pardoned! And it was the Prince-President who ” 

1 es, my dear Edmee. I have done for your brother 
and for you what I would have done for no one else, not 
veil for Adhemar. I have not denied my convictions, but 
ih u “y principles by asking a favor of the man 

who has usurped the place of our lawful king, and I do not 
regret my appeal to his sense of justice. Now, my hfe is 

virtuallpnded. I shall leave for 'salviac to-morrZ ” - 

same^reS!'*^’'* exclaimed both young people in the - 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


I(j8 


EPILOGUE. 


One lovGly May moniiiig;, three months after Adhemar 
de Mussidan^s tragical death, the hells of the old church in 
Salviac gave forth a joyous peal of melody. 

A marriage is always an important event ni a small town, 
but two weddings celebrated at the same time, seldom fail 
to bring out the entire population. 

And such strange marriages! The beautiful, discreet, 
and charming Edmee, marrying a poacher, a sort of Kobin 
Hood, without a home or a penny of fortune. Louis 
Chancelade marrying the widow of the official he had been 
accused of murdering! 

Father Chancelade, safely returned from Cayenne, gave 
his daughter away, and Mme. Santelli was escorted to the 
altar by her nearest relative, a prominent merchant ol 

Bordeaux. . ... . ^ , 

And what was stranger still, the civil authorities ot bal- 
viac, including the new sub-prefect, and M. Bourdeille, 
presiding judge of the court, occupied prominent places in 
the bridal cortege, though not a few remarked the absence 
of the government procureur, and of M. Bezinin, his as- 


These gentlemen, being constitutionally averse to ac- 
knowledging themselves in the wrong, would not consent to 
o-race with their presence a ceremony which was almost 
Equivalent to a rehabilitation of the December insurgents; 
but a maiority of the inhabitants thoroughly approved the 
action of the leading magistrate, and the clemency of the 
Prince-President. 

M. Braconne was also absent, but from purely peisonal 
reasons. That worthy man had cherished a strong hope 
of marrying Mile. Chancelade; and he had not yet become 
reconciled to his disappointment, though he cmdially com- 
mended the magistrate’s decision in Louis Chancelade s 

Jacques, however, had taken a great deal of pains to pre- 
vent the festival from seiwing as an excuse for a political 
demonstration. A short time before the wedding, he made 
the tour of the neighboring villages for the sole purpose ot 


^THE PKETTY JAILEE. 169 

calming any turbulent-minded individuals who might feel 
inclined to take advantage of this opportunity to run about 
the streets of Salviac, uttering seditious cries. 

In tliis vagabond^ transformed by the power of love 
stuff of which ultra-conservatives are made, 
and he was already promising himself to sedulously guard 
from the depredations of poachers, the lands which must 
some day come into the possession of the son-in-law of the 
richest farmer in the district. 

And that day did not appear to be far distant, for old 
Onancelade, weakened by two journeys across the Atlantic 

one made in the hold, with irons on his feet — had not 
mucn longer to live. 

not incline him toward a 
country life— he proposed to establish himself in Bordeaux, 
complete his studies there, and eventually rise to the dig- 
nity of a learned professor. ® 

1 instruction, not being called upon to ex- 
plain to nis superiors the reasons for his decision in the 
Ohancelade case, had told no one — not even his colleagues 
lianL^^^ confession that had been placed in his 

The secret was known only to himself, the 'pTocxiT^iir-' 
genial, the minister of justice, and the unfortunate Count 
ue bigoules, who would not long survive his relative, for he 
was slowly but surely dying of grief and mortification. 

He was not able to be present at the double wedding, 
and me worthy doctor who attended him was of the opin- 
ion that the poor old gentleman could not last six months. 

G-eneral Plancoet also knew the truth, but he lived a 
long way from Perigord, and had many other things to en- 
gross his attention. The Count de Sigoules, to induce his 
old friend to mterfere in Louis Chancelade^s behalf, had 
been obliged to inform him of the part Mme. Marteau had 
played in the affair. 

M. de Plancoet had refused to believe him at first, but 
after making a quiet investigation, he became satisfied that 
tJie cliarges against his protegee were well founded; and it 
IS needless to say that this conclusion cost the fair Aurelie 
her place in his good graces. 

She struggled against this decision witli all the feminine 
weapons at her command, but in vain. Unblushing false- 


170 


THE PRETTY JAILER. 


hoods^ hypocritical tears, and protestations of affection alike 
proved nnavailing. 

Thirty years have elapsed since the occurrence of the 
events we have related. 

Edmee is a grandmother, and Louis Chancelade is a wid- 
ower. Their lives have been tranquil and happy, though 
France has changed its government two or three times. 

Both Aurelie and Coralie, after a few brief years of reck- 
less gayety, died in poverty and disgrace, miloved and un- 
lamented. 

To each man* according to his works. 


THE END, 


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^By Thomas Hardy 20 

680 Fast and Loose. By Arthur 

Griffiths 20 

246 Fatal Dower, A. By the 'Author 
of “ His Wedded Wife ” . . 10 

299 Fatal Lilies, The, and A Bride 
from the Sea. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne’’ 10 

548 Fatal Marriage, A, arid' 'The 
Shadow in the Corner. By 

Braddon lo 

693 F^ix Holt, the Radical. By 

George Eliot 20 

542 Futon’s Quest. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

7 File No. 113. By Emile 'Gabo- 

riau 20 

575 Finger of Fate, The* ’ 'Bv Cap- 
tain Mayne Reid f. 20 


95 Fire Brigade, The. By R. M. 

Ballantime 10 

674 Firet Person Singular.' 'By Da- 

Christie Murray 20 

199 Fisher Village, The. By Anne 

Beale jo 

579 Flower of Doom,' * The',' ' and 
Other Stories. By M. Betham- 

Edwards 10 

156 “ For a Dream’s Sake. ’’ By Mrs 

Herbert Martin ‘ 20 

173 Foreigners, The. ByEleanor'c 


Price. 


20 


197 For Her Dear Sake. ' By Mary 
Cecil Hay ‘ OQ 

150 For Himself Alone. By T W 
Speight _ ‘ 20 

roe S^** f*-?® By 'Alison'. 10 

608 F^ Lilias. By Rosa Nouchette 

Carey 20 

712 For Maimie’s Sake. By Grant 

Allen 20 

586 “ For Percival,’’ By Margaret 

Veley 20 

171 Fortune’s Wheel. By “ Tlie 

Duchess”. 10 

468 Fortunes, Good and Bad, of 'a 
Sewing-Girl, The. By Char- 
lotte M. Stanley jo 

?QQ 5*®^^ Charles Reade. 20 

438 Found Out. By Helen B 

Mathers jo 

333 Frank Fairlegh ; or. Scenes 
From the Life of a Private 

Smedley 20 

m Friendship. By “Ouida” 20 

288 From Gloom to Sunlight. Bv 
Charlotte M. Braeme, authoV 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

348 From Post to Finish. A Racing 
Romance. By Hawley Smart 20 


285 Gambler’s Wife, The. . . 20 

J66 George Christy; or. The Fort- 
unes of a Minstrel. By Tony 

Pastor 20 




^ ^ % Eleanor C. Price. . 20 

208 Ghost of Charlotte Cray, The 
and Other Stories. By Flor- 
ence Marryat 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — PoM Edition. 


813 Ghost’s Touch, The, and Percy 
and the Prophet. By Wilkie 

Collins 10 

225 Giant’s Robe, The. By F. Anstey 20 
800 Gilded Sin, A, and A Bridge 
of Love. By Charlotte M. 
Braencie, author of “Dora 

Thorne’’ 10 

644 Girton Girl, A. By Mrs. Annie 

Edwards ^ 20 

140 Glorious Fortune, A. By Wal- 
ter Besant 10 

647 Goblin Gold. By May Crom- 

melin 10 

450 Godfrey Helstone. By Georgi- 

ana M. Craik 20 

153 Golden Calf, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

306 Golden Dawn, A, and Love for a 
Day. By Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ’’. . . 10 
656 Golden Flood, The. By R. E. 

Francillon and Wm. Senior.. 10 
172 “ Golden Girls.’’ By Alan Muir 20 


292 Golden Heart, A. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne’’ 10 

667 Golden Lion of Granpere, The. 

By Anthony Trollope 20 

356 Good Hater, A. By Frederick 

Boyle 20 

710 Greatest Heiress in England, 

The. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

439 Great Expectations. By Charles 

Dickens 20 

135 Great Heiress, A : A Fortune in 
Seven Checks. By R. E. Fran- 
cillon 10 

244 Great Mistake, A. By the author 

of “ His Wedded Wife ’’ 20 

170 Great Treason, A. By Mary 

Hoppus 30 

138 Green Pastures and Piecadilly. 

By Wm. Black 20 

231 Griffith Gaunt; or. Jealousy. 

By Charles Reade 20 

677 Griselda. By the author of “ A 
Woman’s Love-Story’’ 20 


597 Haco the Dreamer. By William 

Sime 10 

668 Half-Way. An Anglo-French 

Romance 20 

663 Handy Andy. By Samuel Lover 20 
84 Hard Times. By Chas. Dickens 10 
622 Harry Heathcote of Gangoil. By 

Anthony Trollope 10 

191 Harry Lorrequer. By Charles 

Lever 20 

569 Harry Mnir. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 
169 Haunted Man, The. By Charles 

Dickens 10 

533 Hazel Kirke. By Marie Walsh 20 
385 Headsman, The; or, The Ab- 
baye des Vignerons. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

572 Healey. By Jessie Fothergill. 20 
167 Heart and Science. By Wilkie 

Collins 20 

444 Heart of Jane Warner, The. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

391 Heart of Mid-Lothian, The, By 

Sir Walter Scott 20 

695 Hearts: Queen, Knave, and 
Deuce. By David Christie 

Murray 20 

689 Heir Presumptive, The. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

513 Helen Whitney’s Wedding, and 
Other Tales. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood 10 

585 Henrietta’s Wish; or, Domi- 
neering. By Charlotte M. 

Yonge 10 

160 Her Gentle Deeds. By Sarah 
Tytler 10 


576 Her Martyrdom. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne’’ 20 

19 Her Mother’s Sin. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne’’ 10 

196 Hidden Perils. Mary Cecil Hay 10 

518 Hidden Sin, The. A Novel 20 

297 Hilary’s Folly. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne’’ 10 

294 Hilda. By Charlotte M. Braeme, 

author of “ Dora Thorne . 10 
658 History of a Week, The. By 

Mrs. L. B. Walford 10 

165 History of Henry Esmond, The. 

By William M. Thackeray. . . 20 
461 His Wedded Wife. By author 

of “ Ladybird’s Penitence . 20 
378 Homeward Bound; or. The 

Chase. By J. F. Cooper 20 

,379 Home as Found. (Sequel to 
“ Homeward Bound.’’) By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

552 Hostages to Fortune. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

600 Houp-La. By John Strange 

Winter. (Illustrated) 10 

703 House Divided Against Itself, 

A. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

248 House on the Marsh, The. By 

F. Warden 10 

351 House on the Moor, The. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

481 House That Jack Built, The. 

By Alison 10 

198 Husband’s Story, A 10 


389 Ichabod. A Portrait. By Bertha 

Thomas 10 

188 Idonea. By Anne Beale 20 


304 In Cupid’s Net. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ’’ 10 




2' HE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Rocket Edition. 


404 In Durance Vile. By “ The 

Duchess ” 10 

303 Ingledew House, and More Bit- 
ter than Death. By Cliarlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 10 

324 In Luck at Last. By Walter 

Besant 10 

672 InMaremma. By'‘Ouida.” 1st 

half . 20 

672 InMaremma. By “Ouida.” 2d 

half 20 

604 Innocent: A Tale of Modern 
Life. By Mrs. Oliphant. First 

Half 20 

604 Innocent: A Tale of Modern 
Life. By Mrs. Oliphant. Sec- 
ond dialf 20 

577 In Peril and Privation. By 
James Payn 10 


638 In Quarters with the 25th (The 
Black Horse) Dragoons. By 

J. S. Winter. .... lo 

39 In Silk Attire. By William Black 20 
682 In the Middle Watch. By W 

Clark Russell 20 

452 In the West Countrie. By Mua^ 

Crhmmelin 20 

383 Introduced to Society. By HanV- 

ilton Aid6 lo 

122 lone Stewart. By Mrs. E. Lymi 

Linton oo 

233 “ I Say No or, The Loye-Let- 
ter Answered. By Wilkie Col- 
lins 20 

235 “ It is Never Too Late to Mend. ” 

A Matter-Of-Fact Romance. 

By Charles Reade 20 

28 Ivanhoe. By Sir Walter Scott. 20 


534 Jack. By Alphonse Daudet. ... 20 
416 Jack Tier ; or, The Florida Reef. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper, 20 

519 James Gordon’s Wife, A Novel 20 
15 Jane Eyre. By Charlotte Bront6 20 
142 Jenifer. By Annie Thomas .... 20 

357 John. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

203 John Bull and His Island. By 

Max O’Rell 10 

289 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 
True Light. By a “Brutal 

Saxon” 10 

11 John Halifax, Gentleman. By 

Miss Mulock 20 

209 John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. 

By W. Clark Russell 10 


694 John Maidment. By Julian 

Sturgis 20 

570 John oMarchmont’s Legacy. By 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

488 Joshua Haggard's Daughter. 

By Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

619 Joy; or. The Light of Cold- 
Home Ford. By May Crom- 

melin oq 

265 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love 
Affairs and Other Advent- 
^ ures. By William Black.... 20 

332 Judith Wynne 20 

80 June. By Mrs. Forrester. ... 20 

561 Just As I Am. By Miss M. E. 
Braddon . , 20 


126 Kilmeny. By William Black. . 20 I 435 Klytia : A Story of Heidelberg 

I Castle. By George Taylor. . . 20 


35 Lady Audley’s Secret. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

219 Lady Clare ; or, The Master of 
the Forges. From the French 

of Georges Ohnet 10 

469 Lady Darner’s Secret. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 

268 Lady Gay’s Pride; or. The Mi- 

ser’s Treasure. By Mrs. Alex. 

McVeigh Miller 20 

506 Lady Lovelace. By the author 

of “Judith Wynne” 20 

155 Lady Muriel’s Secret. By Jean 

Middlemas 20 

161 Lady of Lyons, The. Founded 
on the Play of that title by 

Lord Lytton 10 

497 Lady’s Mile, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

652 Lady With the Rubies, The. By 
E. Marlitt ; 20 

269 Tiancaster’s Choice. By Mrs. 

Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 


(fi) 


599 Lancelot Ward, M.P. By George 

Temple lo 

32 Land Leaguers, The. By An- 
thony Trollope 20 

684 Last Days at Apswich 10 

40 Last Days of Pompeii, The. By 

Bulwer Lytton 20 

130 Last of the Barons, The, By Sir 
E. Bulwer Lytton. 1st half. . 20 
130 Last of the Barons, The. By Sir 
E. Bulwer Lytton. 2d half. . 20 
60 Last of the Mohicans, The. By 

J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

267 Laurel Vane; or. The Girls’ 
Conspiracy. By Mrs. Alex. 

McVeigh Miller 20 

455 Lazarus in London. By F. W. 

Robinson * 20 

386 Led Astray; or, “La Petite 
Comtesse.” Octave Feuillet. 10 
164 Leila ; or. The Siege of Grenada. 

By Bulwer Lytton lO 

408 Lester’s Secret. By Mary Cecil 
Hay.. 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. —Pocket Edition. 


562 Lewis Arundel; or. The Rail- 
road of Life. By Frank E. 

Smedley 20 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 
Ohuzzlewit, By Charles Dick- 
ens. First half 20 

437 Life and Adventures of. Martin 
Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. Second half 20 

698 Life’s Atonement, A. By David 

Christie Murray 20 

617 Like Dian’s Kiss. By “ Rita ”. 20 
402 Lilliesleaf ; or, Passages in the 
Life of Mrs. Margaret Mait- 
land of Sunnyside. By Mrs. 


Oliphant 20 

397 Lionel Lincoln ; or, The Leaguer 
of Boston. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. First half 20 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. Second half 20 

279 Little Goldie : A Story of Wom- 
an’s Love. By Mrs. Sumner 

Hayden 20 

109 Little Loo. By W. Clark Russell 20 
179 Little Make-Believe. By B. L. 

Farjeon 10 

45 Little Pilgrim, A. By Mrs. Oli- 

phant 10 

272 Little Savage, The. By Captain 

Marry at 10 

111 Little School-master Mark, The. 

By J. H. Shorthouse . .• 10 

92 Lord Lynne’s Choice. By Char- 
lotte *M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 10 


67 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Black- 

more. First half 20 

67 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Black- 

more. Second half 20 

473 Lost Son, A. By Mary Linskill. 10 
354 Lottery of Life. The. A Story 
of New York Twenty Years 
Ago. By John Brougham .. 20 
453 Lottery Ticket, The. By F. Du 

Boisgobey 20 

479 Louisa. By Katharine S. Mac- 

quoid 20 

273 Love and Mirage : or. The Wait- 
ing on an Island. By M. 

Betham-Ed wards 10 

232 Love and Money; or, A Peril- 
ous Secret. By Chas. Reade . 10 
146 Love Finds the Way, and Other 
Stories. By Walter Besant 

and James Rice 10 

313 Lover’s Creed, The. By Mrs. 

Cashel Hoey 20 

573 Love’s Harvest. B. L. Farjeon 20 
175 Love’s Random Shot. By Wilkie 

Collins 10 

291 Love’s Warfare. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 10 

118 Loys, Lord Berresford. and Eric 
Dering. By “The Duchess” 10 
582 Lucia, Hugh and Another. By 

Mrs. J. H. Needed 20 

589 Luck of the Darrells, The. By 

James Pay n 20 

370 Lucy Crofton. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 


44 Macleod of Dare. By William 

Black 20 

526 Madame De Presnel. By E. 

Frances Poynter 20 

345 Madam. By Mrs. Oliphant — 20 
78 Madcap Violet. By Wm. Black 20 
510 Mad Love, A. By the author of 

“ Lover and Lord ” 10 

69 Madolin’s Lover. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne” 20 

341 Madolin Rivers; or. The Little 
Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

By Laura Jean Libbey 20 

377 Magdalen Hepburn : A Story of 
the Scottish Reformation. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

449 Maiden All Forlorn, A, and Bar- 
bara. By “ The Duchess ”... 10 
64 Maiden Fair, A. Charles Gibbon 10 
121 Maid of Athens. By Justin 

McCarthy 20 

633 Maid of Sker, The. By R D. 

Blackmore. 1st half 20 

633 Maid of Sker, The. By R. D. 

Blackmore. 2d half 20 

229 Maid, Wife, or Widow? By 

Mrs. Alexander lO 


702 Man and Wife. By Wilkie Col- 

lins. First half 20 

702 Man and Wife. By Wilkie Col- 
lins. Second half 20 

688 Man of Honor, A. By John 
Strange Winter. Illustrated. 10 
217 Man Sim Cared For, The. By 

F. W. Robinson 20 

371 Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

451 Market Harborough, and Inside 

the Bar. G. J. Whyte-Melville 20 
334 Marriage of Convenience, A. 

By Harriett Jay 10 

480 Married in Haste. Edited by 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

615 Mary Anerley. By R. D. Black- 

more 20 

132 Master Humphrey’s Clock. By 

Charles Dickens 10 

646 Master of the Mine, The. By 

Robert Buchanan 20 


578 Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 

Verne, (Illustrated.) Parti. 10 
578 Mathias Sandorf, By Jules 

Verne. (Illustrated.) Part II 10 
,578 Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 

Verne. (Illustrated.) Part III 10 


TUE SEASIDE LIBl{ARY.~E,cket Edition. 


398 Matt. A T^e of a Caravan. 

330 May Blossom; or, Between Two 

•w'- Margaret Lee 80 

•13/ Memoirs and Resolutions of 
k Adam Graeme of Mossgray 

« including some Chronicles of 

i of Fendie. By 

I Mrs. Olyphant... oq 

^ :\Iercedes of Castile: or, Tne 
1 Voyage to Cathay. ByJ. Fen- 

,,i^ore Cooper on 

m Merchant’s Clerk, The. By Sam- 
j u el Warren 

131 Mydlemarch. By George Eliot. 

j rust half 

«1 Middlemarch By (jeorge Eliot. 
Second half.... 

167 MiclnightSun,The.ByFredrika 

Bremer 

(iis Mignon; or. Booties' Baby .’By 

J. S. Winter ^ 

M^ado, The. and other Comic 
Operas. Written by W. S. 


10 


166 Moonshine and Marguerites. 

By Wilkie CoV- 

178 More Leaves froni ‘the Journal ^ 

of a Life m the Highlands. 

By Queen Victoria jo 

“Ouida” 20 

495 Mount Royal. By Miss M. E 

Kr.. , Braddon oa 

501 Mr Butler’s Ward. ‘By F. 'Mabel 

Kobinson go 

113 Mrs. Can-’s Companion." By ‘ m. 

G. Wightwick _ 10 

^j;s-^Bymond. By Miss Thacke- 
25 Mrs. Geoffrey. By ‘‘ Tlie Duch- 


606 Mrs. Hoilyer. 
Craik 


By Georglana M. 


10 


Gilbert. Composed by Arthur 

Sulhvan •; oa 

&90 Mhdred Trevanion. By “ The 
Duchess ” 10 

114 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to ' 
Afloat and Ashore.”) By J 

o Cooper ‘ 20 

3 Mfll on the Floss, The. By 
George Eliot... oo 

Jj!i,‘^’®H®™ ByF.'\V.Eobinson 80 
182 Millionaire, The. 

“r Minister’s Wife, The." By Mrsl 

W Miss Brown. By Vernon Lee. . 

«y MissBretherton. ByMrs. Hum- 
phry Ward 

By Miss Mulock 

115 Mistletoe Bough, The. Edited 

lie Braddon 

M8 Mistletoe Bough, The. Christ- 
Edited by Miss M. 

[ E. Braddon 

W Mitchelhurst Place. By'lVIarga- 

L ret Veley in 

Mixed Motiyes. . . in 

[ ^^o^ly„Bawn. By “ ‘The 'b'uch- 

Moment ‘ o'f ‘ Madness,' ‘ A,' ’ a‘nd 
Other Stories. By Florence 
Marryat 10 

^Bncing Lane, The. 

11 „^By William Black 20 

I Sc?ft 

V®°se 'i)i’still’^ ^ 

‘‘ii Duchess” 10 

ByJ. b^nimore “ 

Emiie 

20 

C8) 


JJ"'®' Keith’s Crime 
440 Mrs. ■ ■ 


rfu Eirriper’s Lodgings. By 
Charles Dickens 


20 


20 


20 

20 

20 
10 

856 My Snn«,TA Part of His Life'. “ 

By L. B. Walford .... 20 

*M5 Mrs Smith of Longmains." By 
Bhoda Broughton, and Oli- 

339 ^^iphant 10 

339 Mis. Vereker s Courier Maid. 

By Mrs. Alexander lo 

635 Murder or Manslaughter? By 

Mathers lo 

696 My Ducats and My Daugliter 
iini.a«thoi;of “The Crime 
of Christmas Day” 20 

■105 My Friends and I. Edited bV 

/?AA „ Julian Sturgis in 

623 Bly^Lady’s Money. By'wiikie 

Kate.’ 'Bf Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
^ Rainy June 


Monsieur Lecoq. By 
Gaboriau. Vol. II 


Ouida” ■ 10 

271 Mysteries of Paris, The. ByEu- 

0^1 Parti . 20 

271 Masteries of Paris, The. By Eu- 

geue Sue. Part II ’ oQ 

366 Mysterious Hunter, The • or 
pe Man of Death. By Capt.’ 

L. C. Carleton ^80 

668 Mystery of Allan Grale, The. By 

.e. - Isabella Fyvie Mayo 20 

454 Mystery of Edwin Drood. The 

KiA Dickens 20 

514 Mystery of Jessy Page The 
and Other Talis. By Mre’ 

Henry Wood .... 10 

43 Mystery of Orcival, The. By 
oKK T,,Emile Gaboriau 20 

Woo'd ’ 

612 My Wife’s Niece! ‘By riVeauth ^ 

Rfir Ar Doctor Edith Romney ”. 20 
666 My Young Alcides. By Char- 
lotte M. Yonge 20 


TRE SEA81BE LIBR ART .—Pocket Edition. 


574 Nabob, The : A Story of Paris- 
ian Life and Manners. By Al- 
phonse Daudet 20 

227 Nancy. By Rhoda Broughton . 20 
509 Nell Haffenden. By Tighe Hop- 
kins 20 

181 New Abelard, The. By Robert 

Buchanan ....... 10 

464 Newcomes, The. By William 
Makepeace Thackeray. Part 

1 20 

464 Newcomes, The. By William 
Makepeace Thackeray. Part 

II 20 

52 New Magdalen, The. By Wilkie 

Collins 10 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles 
Dickens. First half 20 


425 Oak-Openings, The; or, The 
Bee-Hunter. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

211 Octoroon, The 10 

183 Old Contrairy, and Other Sto- 
ries. By Florence Marryat.. 10 
10 Old Curiosity Shop, The. By 

Charles Dickens 20 

410 Old Lady Mary. By Mrs. Oli- 

phant 10 

72 Old Myddelton’s Money. By 

Mary Cecil Ha}’- 20 

41 Oliver Twist. By Chas. Dickens 20 

505 Ombra. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A. Tale of So- 
ciety. By Mrs. Forrester — 10 
143 One False, Both Fair. By John 
B. Harwood 20 


530 Pair of Blue Eyes, A. By Thom- 
as Hardy 20 

587 Parson o’ Dumford, The. By 

G. Manville Feun 20 

238 Pascarel. By “ Ouida ” 20 

517 Passive Crime, A, and Other 

Stories. By “ The Duchess ” 10 
309 Pathfinder, The. By J. Feni- 
more Cooper 20 

571 Paul Crew’s Story. By Alice 

Comyns Carr 10 

525 Paul Vargas, and Other Stories. 

By Hugh Conway, author of 

“Called Back” 10 

449 Peeress and Player. By Flor- 
ence Marryat. 20 

314 Peril. By Jessie Fothergill ... 20 
568 Perpetual Curate, The. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

133 Peter the Whaler. By William 

H. G. Kingston 10 

392 Peveril of the Peak. By Sir 

Walter Scott 20 

326 Phantastes. A Faerie Romance 
for Men and Women. By 

George Macdonald 10 

56 Phantom Fortune. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 


37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles 

Dickens. Second half 20 

105 Noble Wife, A. By John Saun- 
ders 20 

565 No Medium. By Annie Thomas 10 
614 No. 99. By Arthur Griffiths ... 10 
290 Nora’s Love Test. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

595 North Country Maid, A. By 

Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron 20 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 10 

215 Not Like Other Girls. By Rosa 

Nouchette Carey 20 

640 Nuttie’s Father. By Charlotte 
M. Yonge 20 


384 On Horseback Through Asia 
Minor. By Captain Fred Bur- 
naby — — 20 

498 Only a Clod. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon • • 20 

496 Only a Woman. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

655 Open Door, The, and The Por- 
trait. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 

708 Ormond. By Maria Edgeworth 20 
12 Other People’s Money. By 

Emile Gaboriau 20 

639 Othmar. By “Ouida” 20 

131 Our Mutual Friend. By Charles 

Dickens. First half 20 

131 Our Mutual Friend. By Charles 
Dickens. Second half 20 


336 Philistia. By Cecil Power 20 

669 Philosophy of Whist, The. By 

William Pole 20 

16 Phyllis. By “ The Duchess ”. . 20 
372 Phyllis’ Probation. By the au- 
thor of “ His Wedded Wife ” . 10 
537 Piccadilly. Laurence Oliphant 10 
24 Pickwick Papers. By Charles 

Dickens, vol. 1 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. By Charles 

Dickens. Vol. II 20 

448 Pictures From Ital 5 ^ and The 
Mudfog Papers, &c. By Chas. 

Dickens 20 

206 Picture, The, and Jack of All 

Trades. By Charles Reade. . . 10 
264 Pi6douche, a French Detective. 

By Fortune Du Boisgobey... 10 
318 Pioneers, The ; or. The Sources 
of the Susquehanna. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

393 Pirate, The. By Sir Walter Scott 20 


329 Polish Jew, The. (Translated 
from the French by Caroline 
A. Merighi.) By Erckmann- 

Chatrian 10 

325 Portent, The. By George Mac- 
donald. ....... — 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBIIAIIY .^Docket Edition. 


6 Portia. By “The Duchess ”... 20 
558 Poverty Corner. By G. Manville 

Fenn 20 

310 Prairie, The. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

422 Precaution. By J, Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

697 Pretty Jailer, The. By F. Du 

Boisgobey ‘ 20 

207 Pretty Miss Neville, By B. M. 

Croker 20 

475 Prima Donna’s Husband, The. 

By F. Du Boisgobey 20 

j531 Prime Minister, The. By An- 
thony Trollope. First Half. . 20 
531 Prime Minister, The. By An- 
thony Trollope. Second Half 20 
62^4 Primus in Indis. By M. J. Col- 

quhoun 10 

249 “Prince Charlie’s Daughter.” 

By Charlotte M. Braeme, au- 
thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 


556 Prince of Darkness, A. By F. 

Warden.... 20 

704 Prince Otto. By R. L. Steven- 
son 10 

228 Princess Napraxine. “ Ouida ” 20 
23 Princess of Thule, A. By Will- 
iam Black 20 

88 Privateersman, The. By Cap- 
tain Marryat 20 

321 Prodigals, The : And Their In- 
heritance. By Mrs. Oliphant. 10 
144 Promises of Marriage. By Emile 

Gaboriau ]0 

260 Proper Pride. By B. M. Croker 10 
516 Put Asunder; oi*. Lady Castle- 
maine’s Divorce. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 20 

487 Put to .the Test. Edited by 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

214 Put Yourself in His Place. By 
Charles Reade 20 


68 Queen Amongst Women, A. By 
Charlotte BI. Braeme, author 
of “Dora Thorne” 10 


591 Queen of Hearts, The. By Wil- 
kie Collins 20 


641 Rabbi’s Spell, The. By Stuart 

C. Cumberland 10 

147 Rachel Ray. By Anthony Troll- 
ope 20 

661 Rainbow Gold. By David Chris- 
tie Bliirray 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony 

Trollope. First half 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony 

Trollope. Second half 20 

442 Ranthorpe. By George Henry 

Lewes 20 

327 Raymond’s Atonement. (From 
the German of E. Werner.) 

By Christina Tyrrell 20 

210 Readiana; Comments on Cur- 
rent Events. By Chas. Reade 10 
381 Red Cardinal, The. By Frances 

Elliot 10 

73 Redeemed by Love. By Char- 
lotte BI. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 20 

89 Red Eric, The. ByR. BI. Ballan- 

tyne 10 

463 Redgauntlet. By Sir Walter 

Scott 20 

580 Red Route, The. By William 

Si me 20 

361 Red Rover, The. A Tale of the 
Sea. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 
421 Redskins, The; or, Indian and 
Injin. Being the conclusion 
of the Inttlepage Blanuscripts. 

B.y ,T. Fenimore Cooper 20 

427 Remarkable History of Sir 
Thomas Upmore, Bart., BI.P., 
The. Formerly knowm as 
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190 Romance of a Black Veil. By 
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of “Dora Thorne” 10 

66 Romance of a Poor Young Blan, 

The. By Octave Feuillet 10 

139 Romantic Adventures of a Blilk- 
maid,The. By Thomas Hardy 10 

42 Romola. By George Eliot 20 

360 Rones of Sand. By R. E. Francil- 

lon 20 

664 Rory O’More. By Samuel Lover 20 
670 Rose and the Ring, The. By 

W. M. Thackeray 10 

103 Rose Fleming. By Dora Russell 10 
296 Rose in Thorns, A. By Char- 
lotte BI. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorae ” 10 

193 Rosery Folk, The. By G. Man- 
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129 Rossmoyne. By “ The Duchess ” 10 
180 Round the Galley Fire. By W*. 

Clark Russell 10 

566 Royal Highlanders, The; or, 
The Black Watch in Egypt. 

By James Grant 20 

409 Roy’s Wife. By G. J. Whyte- 

Blelville 20 

489 Rupert Godwin. By Bliss BI. E. 

Braddon 20 

457 Russians at the Gates of Herat, 
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607 Self-Doomed. By B. L. Farjeon 
651 “ Self or Bearer.” By Walter 

Besant 

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418 St. Ronan’s Well. By Sir Walter 

Scott 

141 She Loved Him! By Annie 

Thomas T 

520 She's All the World to Me. By 

57 Shirley. By Charlotte BrontA 

239 Sign a. By"“Ouida” 

707 Silas Marner: The Weaver of 
of Raveloe. Bj^ George Eliot 
539 Silvermead. By Jean Middle- 

mas 

681 Singer’s Story, A. By May 

Laff an 

252 Sinler^ Secret, A. By “ Rita ” 
283 Sin of a Lifetime, The. By 
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515 Sir Jasper’s Tenant. By Miss 

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456 Sketches by Boz. Illustrative 
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Slings and Arrows, and other 
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Society of London, The. By 

Count Paul Vasili 10 

Some of Our Girls. By Mrs. C- 

J. Eiloart 20 

Some One Else. By B. M. Croker 20 
“So Near, and Yet So Far!” 

By Alison 10 

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Stella. By Fanny Lewald 20 

“ Storm-Beaten God and The 
Man. By Robert Buchanan. 20 
Story of a Sin. By Helen B. 

Mathers 20 

Story of Dorothy Grape, The, 
and Other Tales. By Mrs. 
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Story of Ida, The. By Francesca 10 
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Struck Down. By Hawley Smart 10 
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Struggle for Fame, A. By IMrs. 

J. H. Riddell 2(1 

Sun-Maid, The. By Miss Grant 20 
Sunrise : A Story of These Times 


Sunshine and Roses ; or, Diana's 
Discipline. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne” 10 

Surgeon’s Daughters, The. By 
Mrs. Henry Wood. A Man of 
His Word. By W. E. Norris. 10 
Surgeon’s Daughter, The. By 

Sir Walter Scott 10 

Sweet is True Love. By “ The 

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Sworn to Silence ; or. Aline 
Rodney’s Secret. By Mrs. 
Alex. McVeigh MiUer. . . . . . . . 


601 

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20 491 

20 

505 

20 114 

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20 

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158 

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436 

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20 

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10 

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10 550 

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117 Tale of the Shore and Ocean, A. 

By William H. Q. Kingston.. 20 

V Cities, A. By 

I Charles Dickens 90 

13 Talk of the Town, The. By 

James Payn go 

313 Terrible Temptation 

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Jane Porter... 

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T Duchess ” 10 

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148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. 

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485 Tinted Vapours. By J.Maclaren 

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t By Mrs. Molesworth 10 

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iJ76 Under the Lilies and Roses. 

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100 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas 

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75 Twenty Years After. By Alex- ~ 

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714 ’Twixt Love and Duty.’ ‘bv 

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349 Two Admirals, The. A Tale of 
^e Sea. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper go 

307 Two Kisses, and Like no Other 
Love. By Charlotte M. Braeme 
author of ” Dora Thorne ”. . 10 
242 Two Orphans, The. By D’En- 

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563 Two Sides of the’shiel'd,”The 
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634 Unforeseen, The. By Alice 

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608 Unholy Wish, The. By ’Mr’s 
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Vagrant Wife, A. By F. Warden 
>91 Valentine Strange. By David 

Christie Murray 

89 Valerie’s Fate. By Mrs. 'Alex- 
ander 

27 Vanity Fair. By Wiili’am” ’ m‘. 
Thackeray 


426 Venus’s Doves. By Ida Ash- 
worth Taylor.. go 

46 Very Hard Cash. By Charles 
Reade go 

kII ^y F. An’st’ey ; ; ; ; 20 

Victory Deane. By Cecil Griffith 20 

645 Vida’s Story jq 

204 Vixen. By Miss M. E. Braddon 20 


60 Waif of the “ Cynthia,' 

By Jules Veme 

9 Wanda, Countess von Szalras 

By “Ouida” 

70 Wandering Jew, The 
gene Sue. Parti..’ 


The. 


By Eu- 


20 

( 12 ) 


270 Wandering Jew, The. By Eu- 
gene Sue. Part II. go 

621 AVarden, The. By Antho’nv 

Trollope ‘ in 

266 Water-Babies, The. By the 
Rev. Charles Kingsley. jo 


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512 Waters of Hercules, The 20 

112 Waters of Marah, The. By John 

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369 Water-Witch, The. By J. Feni- 

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401 Waverley. By Sir Walter Scott 20 


312 Week in Killarney, A. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

458 Week of Passion, A; or. The 
Dilemma of Mr. Georg:e Bar- 
ton the Younger. By Edward 

Jenkins 20 

79 Wedded and Parted. By Char- 
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‘,‘Dora Thorne” 10 

628 Wedded Hands. A Novel 20 

400 Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish, The. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

637 WhaFs His Offence? A Novel. 20 
679 Where Two Ways Meet. By 

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220 Which Loved Him Best? By 
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236 Which Shall It Be? By Mrs. 

Alexander 20 

627 White Heather. By Wm. Black 20 
70 White Wings: A Yachting Ro- 
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335 White Witch, The 20 

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254 Wife’s Secret, The, and Fair 
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.323 Willful Maid, A 20 

373 Wing and Wing. By J. Feui- 

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By 


195 “ Way of the World, The. 

David Christie Murray 

415 Ways of the Hour, The. By J. 

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344 “Wearing of the Green, The.” 
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472 Wise Women of Inverness, 

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20 Within an Inch of His Life. 

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358 Within the Clasp. By J. Ber- 
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705 Woman I Loved, The, and the 
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701 Woman in White, The. By Wil- 
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701 Woman in White, The. By Wil- 
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322 Woman’s Love-Story, A 

459 Woman’s Temptation, A. By 
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295 Woman’s War, A. By Char- 
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17 Wooing Q’t, The. By Mrs. Alex- 
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380 Wyandotte ; or. The Hutted 
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434 Wyllard’s ‘Weird. By Miss M. E. 
Braddon 


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709 Zenobia; or. The Fall of Pal- 
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First half 20 

709 Zenobia: or. The Fall “of Pal- 
myra. By William Ware. 
Second half — 10 


428 Z6ro; A Story of Monte-Carlo. 

By Mrs. Campbell Praed — 
522 Zig-Zag, the Clown; or. The 
Steel Gauntlets. By F. Du 
Boisgobey. 


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A Fair Mystery. By Charlotte 
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Thorne” 20 

109 The Philosophy of Whist. By 

William Pole 20 

>0 Far From the Madding Crowd. 

^ By Thomas Hardy 20 

•01 Valentine Strange. By David 

I Christie Murray 20 

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George Eliot 20 

daidment. By Julian 

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07 The Pretty Jailer. By F. Du 

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- A Life’s Atonement. By David 

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712 For Maimie’s Sake. A Tale of 
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713 “ Cherry Ripe I” By Helen B. 

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714 ’Twixt Love and Duty. By 

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715 I Have Lived and Loved. By 

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716 Victor and Vanquished. By 

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717 Beau Tancrede; or, the Mar- 

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721 Dolores. By IMrs. ForresteiV .’. ! 20 

722 What’s Mine’s Mine. By George 

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723 Mauleverer’s Millions. By T. 

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724 My Lord and My Lady. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

725 My Ten Years’ Imprisonment. 

By Silvio Pellico lo 

726 My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester.*. .* 20 

727 Fair Women. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

728 Janet’s Repentance. By George 

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729 Mignon. Mrs. Forrester 20 

731 The Bayou Bride. By IMrs. Mary 

E. Britan go 

732 From Olympus to Hades. By 

Mrs. Forrester.-. 20 

734 Viva. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

735 Until the Day Breaks. By 

Emily Spender ' 20 

736 Roy and Viola. By Mrs. For- 

rester 20 

737 Aunt Rachel. By David Christie 

Murray lo 

740 Rhona. By Mrs. Forrester V.V. 20 

741 The Heiress of Hilldrop; or, 

The Romance of a Young 
Girl. By Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of ” Dora Thorne ”... 

744 Diana Carew; or, ForaWom- 
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cies. — Neioark Daily Journal. 

j The New York Fashion Bazar for 
' December is already out, and is full of 
excellent reading, beginning in this 
number a new story, called “ Lady 
; Branksmere,” by “The Duchess.” Biit 
, the fashion plates, colored and plain, 
are the feature. Here is everything 
in season tor ladies and children, as 
i well as embroidery patterns, etc. It 
is a marvel of cheapness— 25 cents per 
copy ; $2.50 per year.— Methodist Prot- 
estant., Baltimore, Md. 


The December number of The New 
York Fashion Bazar is replete with 
fashion information, illustrated with 
plain and colored engravings, and de- 
votes considerable space to interesting 
stories and other choice reading. — 
Norristown Daily Herald. 

The New York Fashion Bazar for 
December appears with its usual com- 
plete representations of the costumes 
of the day. The reading matter con- 
tains much that is s^icy.— Washing- 
ton Capital, 

The New York Fashion Bazar is 
full of suggestions in regard to the 
fashioning of dresses and fancy arti- 
cles, as well as the usual installment of 
literature. — The Church Union., N. Y, 

The Fashion Bazar, published by 
George Munro, New York, presents a 
most attractive number for November. 
The double-page fashion plate gives 
six full-length figures, handsomely 
colored, showing the most desirable of 
late fashions in garments for the win- 
ter, and this is followed by the most 
reliable information, fully illustrated, 
of all the articles of ladies’ wear on 
which the sex desire to be fully in- 
formed. The Bazar is a really ele- 
gant publication, and needs only to be 
seen to be fully appreciated.— Lazi;- 
rence Daily American. 


The New York Fashion Bazar for 
November has its usual timely array 
of fashion plates and hints by way of 
explanation of the same. George 
Munro, New York, publisher.— Tro?/ 
Telegram. 

The New York Fashion Bazar is a 
ma.nual of completeness and elegance. 
It it a, veritable book of fashions, is- 
sued every month. The publisher, 
George Munro, is sparing nothing in 
the way of enterprise.— Daz7?/ British 
Whig., Kingston, Ont. 


The New York Fashion Bazar for 
December is gay with winter fashions, 
a very great number of illustrations, a 
brightly colored cover, and a large 
colored fashion plate containing six 
figures, with a multitude of other illus- 
trations. There is also a large amount 
of general reading and stories. — Chris- 
tian Secretary, Hartford, Ct. 

The New York Fashion Bazar for 
December is at hand, and is a number 
that will greatly delight the ladies. 
—Daily Argus, Cairo, 111. 


The New York Fashion Bazar is for sale by all newsdealers, price 25 cents 
per copy. Subscription price $3.00 per year. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Miinro’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751* 17 to ii7 Vandewater Street, New York, 




THE CELEBRATED 

SOBMER 


GEAND, SQUARE AND UPRIGHT PIAHOS. 


FIRST PRIZE 

DIPLOMA. 

Centennial ExHibi- 
tion, 1876; Montreal, 
1881 and 1882. 

The enviable po- 
sition Sohmer & 
Co. hold among 
American Piano 
Manufacturers is 
solely due to the 
merits of their in- 
struments. 



They are ui 
in Conserva 
ries. Schools 8 
Seminaries, on 
count of their 
perior tone a 
unequaled 
bility. 

The SOHM: 
Piano is a spe( 
favorite with 
leading musici 
and critics. . 


ARE AT PRESENT THE MOST POPULAR 

AND PREFERRED BY THE LEADING ARTISTS 

SOHMER & CO., Manufacturers, No. 149 to 155 E. 14th Street, N. Y. 


Munro’s Publications. 

The Seaside Library— Pocket Edition. 

MISS M. E. BRAlM>ON’S WORKS: 

4{>7 TIu‘ Lady’s Mile... 20 

498 Only a i'lod 20 

499 Tlie Cloven Foot... 20 

51 1 A SI ranure World . . 20 
515 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 
524 Strangers and Pil- 
grims 20 

529 Tlie llorlor’s Wife. 20 

542 Feiil oil's Quest 20 

544 ('ill by I lie I'oiiiily; 

or, (Jrare Darnel. 10 

548 The Falal .llarriage, 
and The Shadow 
in the I'orner. . . . 10 

549 Dudley Carleoii, and 

(leorge CauWield’s 
Journey 10 

558 Hostages toForl line 20 

558 Birds of Prey 20 

554 Charlotte’s Inher- 
itance. (Seqnel to 
“Birds of Prey.”) 20 
557 To the Bitter End. 20 
5.59 Taken at the Flood 20 

500 Asphodel 20 

.501 Just as I am; or, A 

Living Lie 20 

507 Dead 5ien’s Shoes . . 20 
570 John Marchmont’s 

liCgacy 20 

018 The Mistletoe 
Bough. Christ- 
mas, 1885 20 


85 Lady Audiey’s Se- 
cret 20 

50 Phantom Fortune . . 20 

74 Aurora Floyd 20 

110 Under the Red Flag 10 
1.58 The Golden Calf. ... 20 

204 Vixen ‘20 

211 The Octoroon 10 

234 Barhara;or, Splen. 

did Misery 20 

208 An Ishiiiaellte 20 

315The Mistletoe 
Bongh. Edited by 
Miss Braddon.... 20 
434 5Vy Hard’s Weird.. 20 
478 Diavola; or, So— 
hodv’s Daughter. 

Part 1 20 

478 Diavola; or, Nn> 
hodv’s Daughter. 

Part II 20 

480 Married in Haste. 
Edited hy Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

487 Pnt to the Test. 

Edited hy Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

488 Joshua Haggard’s 

Daughter 20 

4S9 Kupert Godwin.... 20 

495 Mount Royal 20 

490 Only a Woman. 
Edited hv Miss M. 

Ec Braddon 20 


Any of the above works will be sent by mail, postpaid, 
on receipt of the price. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Mnnro’s Publishing Ilonse, 

P. O. Bex 3751. ’ 17 to 27 Vandewater St., N. Y. 


NEW 


TABERNACLE SERMON 

Preached in the Brooklyn TabernacI 

By Key. T, BeWitt Talma^e, D 


CONTENTS ; 


Brawn and Muscle. 
The Pleiades and Orion 
The Queen’s Visit. 
Vicarious Suttering. 
Posthumous Opportu- 
nity. 

The Lord’s Razor. 
Windows Toward Je- 
rusalem. 

Stormed and Taken. 
All the World Akin. 

A Momentous Quest. 
The Great Assize. 

The Road to the City. 
The Ran sou dess. 

The Three Groups. 


'I'he Insignificant. 
The Three Rings. 
How He Came to 
It, 

Castle Jesus. 
Stripping the Slalll 
Sold Out. 

Summer Temptatl 
The Banished Que€ 
The Day We Live j 
Capital and Labor 
Tobacco and Opiui 
Despotism of 
Needle. 

i Why are Satan and 
1 Permitted? 


The book will be forwarded, postage- 
paid, on re^ceipt of price, $1.00. Addres 

GEORGE MUNRO, 
Miinro’s Publishing House, 

P.O.Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater St., 1 


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